


JERICO

by MuseofLullabys



Category: Fantasy - Fandom, JERICO, Modern Fanstasy, Original Work, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anime inspired, Canon Autistic Character, Canon Character of Color, Gen, Inspired by Harry Potter, Inspired by Supernatural (TV), Inspired by Yu Yu Hakusho, Magic, Mythology - Freeform, Paranormal, Supernatural Elements, alternative universe, yu yu hakusho - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 50,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9510164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuseofLullabys/pseuds/MuseofLullabys
Summary: Imagine if you will a world where fantastical beings called paranormals unknowingly live side by side with humans. However this balance is being threatened constantly by both human and para, and it's up the reapers to maintain that balance. Jerico, an Appalachian mountain troll and a new reaper recruit, is the central focus of the story.





	1. JERICO Title Page

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A title card for the Jerico series, at least the first parts of it.


	2. Just Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we are introduced to our Reaper, Jerico. Appalachian Mountain Troll, construction worker, and cat lover.

"Hurry it up ya bunch'a slackjawed ogres, we ain't got all day!"  
  
It wasn't exactly the wake-up call Jerico wanted, hearing the droll voice of his supervisor crooning from three floors below that reached his now twitching ears. Every day felt the same. Wake up, go to work, get yelled at, come home, sleep, repeat. Gripping the slightly drenched collar of his work shirt, he lightly began to move the fabric to and fro in an attempt to have some cool air circulating. After all, he wasn't naturally adept to handle the Arkansas humidity during the later summer months. It was a far cry from the mountains he'd once called home, but he knew he couldn't go back.   
  
Not after what happened.   
  
Wrapping his fingers tightly onto the bristling rope, he began the work of hoisting the thick iron support beams inch by inch, praying that the levy wouldn't give out again. Of course, some actual machinery would do a better job and cause less rope burn upon his already calloused palms, but as a para and a troll on top of that, this was the only honest work he could manage. It wasn't like he could just go to a human workplace and put in an application, as a para he lacked certain things like an official birth certificate or a social security card. And if a human being were to accidentally grasp his ear, or brush his tail, he would have to relocate.   
  
**Again**.   
  
"Good job, hillbilly!" One of many nicknames Jerico had planted upon his spine, making him silently grit tusk laden teeth beneath cracked lips before forcing himself to smile at the pot bellied cyclops in an unscathed, pure white hardhat, "Keep workin' like that and ya might finish early today."   
  
He knew it was the closest thing his supervisor had to compliment, but just the bitter taste of the nickname always left its taste on his pallet. Jerico knew it was trouble from the start to share his heritage, that he was born from the mountains of Appalachia. And while the mispronunciation never failed to send a heated spike through the smallest vein just above his eye, it was the constant nicknames and jokes that forced him to compress every word deep inside his chest. Having co-workers jokingly ask about his 'Mountain Dew Mouth', or asking if he either married his sister, or perhaps the most abrasive was when they asked him in their childish ignorance to speak. He would always politely smile, shake his head, and carry on with his work. The troll knew if he attempted to put his thick tongue to work he would only receive more jokes and more scornful words. Being a 'barefoot redneck' was one thing, having his stammer put in the spotlight was another. It wasn't like he could call the labor board, nor could he join a union.   
  
As a para, he had to work under the table and live as silently as possible no matter what humanity, or in this case his fellow para, threw at him. It was part of his true occupation, in that he swore upon Death herself to maintain a fragile balance. If one human were to glimpse upon what he truly was...  
  
"Bar loose bar loose!!!"  
  
"Brian MOVE!!!"  
  
Ear twitching upon, the dull snap of overused rope stopped his work. Steadying his own beam, swiftly tying the rope upon the ledge just beneath his feet, Jerico sprinted to the edge and adjusted his thick rimmed glasses. Brian, a lax half-orc who had a penchant for mishaps at work, gripped his ankle as he laid just beneath the silhouette of the support beam that dangled within the dwindling rope. Feeling the tiniest hairs stand on edge upon the base of his neck as the rope gave way, the thick metal beam began to clamor through the open air, roughly striking a newly constructed portion of the left wall on the way down. The half orc's entire frame flinched as he crossed his arms over his face, anticipating the blunt weight of the beam to crush him.   
  
As the cool shadow lingered upon his frame for a breathless minute, Brian felt a single warm droplet land square along his brow, the sensation causing him to slowly ease his arms apart only to see Jerico bearing the brunt of the impact with the beam planted upon his back. The troll's arms were braced on either side whereas to prevent the beam from rolling off, he could tell from the impact that it shattered Jerico's glasses, leaving the shards to cause the droplets to flow freely from a scratch along his brow and nose. Ragged breath ripped through Brian's now tightened chest, watching in complete and utter silence that swept throughout the building site as Jerico rolled his shoulders, the weighted beam falling with an ill thump that cracked the dried earth beside him. Jerico held his left arm, clenching his fist a few times to ensure the nerves were in tact before kneeling by Brian's side. "J-Jerico, you alright?! That was almost a ton'a steel!"  
  
"Y-you-ou-ou...h-hur-urt-t?" Jerico's thick, baritone timbre was soft, yet due to the events that caused his back to bare a deep rooted burn, his words echoed as he slowly began to find himself surrounded by his coworkers. Heat began to settle along his dark skinned cheeks while thick hair plastered itself along his brow.   
  
"Yeah. I was trying to get the other rope and I tripped and twisted my ankle. Did you just jump down from that third floor?!"  
  
"He did I saw 'im!" An orc on the second floor chimed, breaking the silence, "He jumped like a damned spider monkey!"  
  
"Didn't know trolls could move 'at fast."  
  
"How the hell aren't you bleeding more?"  
  
"Ain't you hurt? How're you still standing?"  
  
Each word began to pile onto one another, the grating static of voices near bust his strained eardrums. Jerico tried to check Brian's ankle despite a growing headache, but he found his hands clumsy after the impact.   
  
"Alright, alright that's enough!" The supervisor managed to waddle his way over, kneeling by Brian's side and taking his arm around his shoulder, "Back ta work all of ya! Ain't nobody gettin' killed but I can start firing if ya want." With that, the small hoard of para began to return to their work, an eye occasionally peering at the odd troll who stopped the iron beam. With a great effort, the supervisor helped Brain to his feet while bracing him on his shoulder, "Good work, hillbilly. Why don't...why don't'cha go on and take yer break. Ya've earned it."  
  
Shifting from the uneasiness such an impact which had mildly tipped him off balance, Jerico only nodded. As he began to turn away, Brain's voice barely rose above a rasp, "...thank you, Jerico."   
  
The troll only waved lightly without turning around, walking steadily down towards the trailer posted barely off site. Still reeling from both the forming bruise across his back and a settling headache that lingered at the base of his skull, Jerico quickly shut the break room door behind him, anxiously walking over to his locker. He fumbled with the code, growing frustrated before gripping the metal vice and yanking it free. Well wonderful, that was another twelve dollars he had to pay later. But at this point all the troll wanted was to get himself in a different headspace, to distance himself from what just happened. Gathering the essentials, his spare glasses and his tattered paperback, the troll placed them in a slight mess on the picnic-esque table before rummaging through the fridge for his apple and cantine of water. It took a moment to settle back down, but once he got a large drink of water and found the page where he left off, the anticipated nerves began to ease. While he would miss his Atticus Finch glasses, he didn't have nearly enough funds to purchase another pair for at least six weeks. But Jerico knew he couldn't complain, at least he had the presence of mind to bring his spares just in case.   
  
_'Shoot all the_ blue jays _you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."That was the only time I ever heard Atticus say it was a sin to do something, and I asked Miss Maudie about it. "Your father's right," she said. "Mockingbirds don't do one thing except make music for us to enjoy".'_  
  
As Jerico ran his folded piece of notebook paper turned bookmark down the page, he felt an uncomfortable warmth beside him. He knew someone was beside him, he knew a pair of eyes just searing into his side. But, Jerico refused to see who it was. He hadn't gotten past this part yet, he wanted to-  
  
"If you don't mind my askin'...how the hell're you still alive?" Oh, it was Barry. One of the ogres that did framework with him, although it wasn't like he was close to any of his coworkers at all. He just wanted to do his job then go home, but it seemed he wouldn't be given that luxury today. "Even for a normal troll that shoulda killed ya. So you juice or somethin'?"  
  
He didn't expect the ogre to know. After all, Jerico was the last of his kind. His tail swayed numbly as slate eyes attempted to move past the next word, running the bookmark down with barely a whisper.   
  
"C'mon, man, I've gotta know. What the hell kinda troll are ya. Sure as hell ain't Norwegian, skin's too dark." Barry rested his chin on the back of his hand, tilting his square head in the slightest degree, "Seriously, man, this's gonna kill me."  
  
"Forge't Barry." Oh damn, now Robert just had to come in. An Orc, but he was a smaller breed only standing about 6 foot as opposed to the troll's 7. Plopping ungracefully beside Barry before cracking open a can, the smell of diluted alcohol nearly made Jerico wretch. "Ya know he don't talk ta nobody. He's too good." A dark smirk played along Roger's lips, "Ri-i-i-i-ight?"  
  
Jerico began to grind his teeth but kept his eyes on the pages despite his aggravation blurring the words together.   
  
"Stop it. Jerico's not botherin' you, Rob."  
  
"What? I can't have a lil' fun with tha guy? It's not like he's'a puss or somethin', you seen 'im out there."  
  
Quietly shutting the book with both large palms into itself, Jerico pushed himself out of his chair. With his hands more steady now, he neatly placed his book back into his locker, settling for only being able to dummy lock it due to the damage.   
  
"Great now ya pissed 'im off."  
  
"Hey it ain't my fault. Guy's been workin' here three years an' the only words we ever hear from 'im are a bunch'a stutters."  
  
Both men were so lost in their conversation that they didn't even notice Jerico silently slipping from the trailer, carefully stepping down each step before jolting. His supervisor stood about chest level to the troll, having removed his hard hat and scratching his balding head. "Hey, thanks for a bit ago. I mean it, hi...Jerico. Listen, ya do good here. Take tha rest of th' day off."  
  
Releasing a slow breath, Jerico's hands began to form familiar words, 'If it's about the lock, I have 12 dollars at home.'  
  
"Again?! No-" The cyclops shook his head, "Nothin' ta do with that. Jus'...don't go talkin' 'bout what almost happened. Far as I'm concern'd it was jus' a borin' day. Alright?" Jerico nodded, and the cyclops patted his back, "'atta boy. Ya go and have a good day off. We'll make sure your workload's done."

  
He never wanted this.   
  
This definitely wasn't the way Jerico wanted his day to go, but in some strange way, this hiccup gave him an excuse to step away from the smoldering humidity for at least a moment to breathe. Others, whether human or para, never failed to suffocate him, their collective presence always strung his nerves into a fine twine that was always begging to snap. Attempting to toil the days away with his hands worked well at first to ease his mind, to keep him distracted, but as each day passed in its repetition the newness of it all faded. Stepping over a series of cracks along the barely paved sidewalk, Jerico raked long, calloused fingers through thick hair dampened with sweat. It would have been easier to take the bus or to own a car, but as a troll, this was the best he could do. Using this backstreet guaranteed silence for his overworked ears, enough room for his thick tail to sway as it wanted without the confinement it required around humans, and all the more important he could finally breathe. For the exception of a stray car that ran down the street he had isolation. Despite only knowing such an existence, and dreading the thought of one day returning to such a lonesome way of being, there were moments where it suited his nature. Stopping his lax pace, the softest sound weaved through the lukewarm breeze that brushed along his worked features. Steadying his breathing as to not interfere with his hearing, Jerico listened in the stillness that followed for a moment longer before hearing the noise once more. A high pitched cry, feline he recognized.   
  
A cat? It had to be. What else had he to do today? Feeling his ear twitch, the troll strayed off the sidewalk, maneuvering around a nearly weathered cinderblock fence just before Old Man McCarthy's house. Poor man died last year and didn't have anyone to care for the place, nor for him. From what he heard, it took three full days for paramedics to at least get a tip off, much less come down the way to pick up what was left. A dull ache resonated deep inside Jerico's chest upon remembering Old Man McCarthy. Every morning the elderly man would sit on his porch swing when he went to work, and be in the garden on the way home. And for some reason, there would always be a stray cat right by his side. But there was something about the old man, perhaps a familiar empty smile that Jerico saw in the mirror every morning that made him feel a small inkling of empathetic fear. Shaking his head as to clear the thought, he easily climbed over the makeshift fence, landing upon the decaying yard with ease before feeling his ear twitch upon the sound again. He squinted for a moment, not wanting to trespass further but the cry was only getting louder, with a slight rasp. Keening in on the sound, Jerico knelt just beneath the steps of the porch before tilting his head into the shadow. A singular golden eye peered through the darkness, making its cry known well to him. 'Seems like we found the culprit'. Gently reaching into the blackness beneath the porch, feeling sinking pricks of somewhat hooked thorns from an overgrown thicket didn't phase him in the least. He'd felt worse anyway. Taking great care to wrap his fingers just beneath the arms enough to brace the cat, he leaned back into the brown grass, cross-legged with his thick tail draped somewhat lazily along his knee. Holding the stray much like a babe, Jerico gently ran his fingers along the cat's white spot upon its chest, a singular difference amidst its thin, inky fur. So far everything felt okay, although he could feel the poor boy's ribs.  
  
Oops, girl's ribs.  
  
It was only when Jerico inspected the cat's legs did he feel the frail creature flinch. "Sh-shh-shhh-hhh." Gently taking the cat's leg in his open palm, an ill-inducing heated punch hit his stomach. Holding the cat's leg, he could tell just by the feel that the bone beneath was shattered, splintered into fragments as glass with only flesh keeping what was left in place. Cradeling the cat's head with his arm, he tilted it up to get a better look upon her face. Her missing eye looked like it was clawed out, a feral cat more than likely battled her and stole it.   
  
Releasing a breath, he used his tail as a brace to push himself up without bothering the cat that rest with a soft purr in his arms. After climbing over the fence, he landed on the balls of his heels before giving the street a glance of either side and speed walking across the street. With his lengthy legs, it didn't take him long before he reached a small, faded blue trailer with an askew sign near illegible on the front door. Climbing up wooden steps that were three years away from giving up, he gave a single knock before stepping through the door.   
  
A bell chimed as he did so, and a set of bored, dark eyes glanced up at him. A middle-aged woman, pear shaped and with a chin length bob cut, with her lashes caked in thick mascara. With a slight unamused look, she closed the magazine on her desk before turning towards the back, "Chang! He's back!"  
  
"Now, Nanc' what are you-?" Peering from the back room, Chang moved the plastic curtains aside and gave Jerico a single once over before sighing, "...AGAIN?!" Before he could attempt to sign or speak, the elderly man walked with a slight limp around the counter, "Don't bother es'plaining. Wit' all these animals you bring me I'm bound ta start up a zoo."  
  
As Chang took the cat into his arms, Jerico attempted a slightly crooked yet innocent smile and signed, 'Job security?'  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Same as usu'l?"  
  
Jerico nodded, rummaging through his back pocket and pulling an old leather wallet, pulling a few bills and placing them on the counter.   
  
"Ya know she'll just go to tha shelter after this?"  
  
'As long as she gets better.'  
  
"Well tha' she'll get." Chang held the cat in his arms while he waddled around the counter before heading to the back, "You jus' gotta tendency of taking on strays, huh?"  
  
Giving a one shoulder shrug, Jerico nodded before silently stepping out the door, planting his palm along the threshold as another lukewarm breeze brushed his features.   
'I guess I do.'  
  
  


With his little detour, the sky had already waned from a smoldering day into a brisk, slighlty crisp dusk whose sky began to bare its first stars. One of the only positives about living this far out was the fact, much like his home, Jerico was granted the sight of a few twinkling diamonds from time to time. And if he was really fortunate and he woke up early enough, he could watch the moon hang high in the sky with its pale green ring that lingered around it, stretching out amidst clouds or stars almost like wings. Alas, it wasn't chill enough to see his breath steam, a slightly childish enjoyment to breathe as deep and hot as one could only to watch the lingering smoke leave your lips, but it was a pass time Jerico indulged in. While fumbling within his pocket to rummage for his only key, a starkness overcame him to find not only the door knob warm to the touch but his door unlocked.   
  
He could feel his eyes already beginning to darken to the point of shadow, calloused fingers gripped the small piece of metal between his lenses and folded his spares with ease into his pocket. He braced himself, the thundering of his heart within a twinkling grew near still, willing itself to soften whereas to not alert the enemy. Or, perhaps, not to distract with its bothersome pounding. Pulling the door to, a thin whisper of ice brushed along his ankles, sprinting up the length of his tail and spine before nestling firm upon his ears. Slowly shutting the door behind him and locking it deftly, Jerico took each step in a practiced slowness, ensuring absolute silence despite the lack of hiding due to the apartment's open layout. Taking one step into the sharp moonlight, he clinched his fists loosely, bracing them in a stance before his face just before his ears could adjust to the warm sound of giggling.   
  
Jerico's body immediately relaxed. The vessels that had labored to pump fire instead of blood within his veins bore a jarring stillness, the blackening of his eyes' whites had begun to recede. Jerico knew he was safe now, although it took him a moment or two for his fists to ease down his sides. However, his stance remained straight and aligned, his tail still upon the floor. With a slightly clumsy hand, he rummaged in his pocket for his glasses, slipping them back on his nose so his eyes could adjust to the light once more.   
  
"You're late." The sultry purr rang past perfectly painted lips, a stark crimson against her elegantly dark skin. She sat with the uttermost comfort, as a queen perched upon the seat upon her royal court, arms braced against the back of the faded blue loveseat. Within a moment she grew restless, attempting to adjust herself but failing to find a means of comfort. Striking black and snowy white frayed over her features from opposing sides, much to her displeasure the strands clung to her lipstick in quite the annoying fashion, rendering an almost cute attempt to blow them from her features. She quirked an ideally kept brow at Jerico, "How can you stand sitting on this....this thing! It's like a bed of rocks."  
  
Jerico's hands pieced together his words, 'Am I needed, ma'am?'   
  
She slowly pressed herself to stand, her pencil skirt never failed to prove a difficulty when standing especially around the somewhat bashful troll. "Always to the point, Jerico." Crimson heels gave a dull yet clear cadence as she stepped atop near cinderblock, grasping a manila folder in her gloved hand before pressing it to Jerico's chest. "You've a case. I realize three years is quite a break, but you're far past your internship. You're to be packed and ready by the morning. I'll send a cab."  
  
'What about my other job?'  
  
"I already took the liberty of calling earlier. After all, it was only until you were needed as a full-time Reaper. This apartment, that job. All of it. You aren't this anymore, Jerico." Leather clad fingers weaved through snowy white locks that lay on her right part, combing them back from her regal features, "You are officially a Reaper now. Is that understood?"  
  
'Yes, ma'am.'  
  
"I may be old, Jerico, but I believe we're past the point of ma'am. Although I do think it's rather cute." Smiling with an almost maternal light within her crimson eye, a lithe set of fingertips softly placed itself upon his scratched brow, "Call me whatever you like. Perchella, Hel, anything. I've told you that since day one."  
Rubbing the base of his neck as his slate eyes slowly cast down, a light dusting of pink rested upon his strong cheek bones as he worked his hands again, 'Ma'am, I need to pick up something from work before I leave.'  
  
"I can have it picked up, yes." A slight sigh passed Perchella's lips, "What would it be, Jerico?"


	3. The Inugami Case Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Montgomery, Alabama, a series of human deaths are linked to the disappearance of a boy and his pit bull. However, when it's discovered a Para is behind some aspect of both cases, Jerico is called.

"What'll ya have, boys?" A pair of large, anxious emerald eyes glanced upward , barely able to steady the large plastic and faded menu in both hands. Darlene never saw a boy like this before, with ratty black hair and olive skin, fractured glasses and clothes that were twice too large for his chubby body but were ripped from wear. How could a child look so broken and frail, yet still be chubby? Normally she'd wait for his parents to come so she could take his order, but he'd sat here for a solid three hours trying to read over the menu with only a muscular mass of a pit bull by his side. It was strangely obedient, at least compared to the pits she'd encountered, a dingy white with soft gray spots throughout. Something about its eyes should have bothered her, but she couldn't place her finger on it.  
  
"Oh Mama J's a lady, miss." His apologetic, strained voice came in a slight rasp.  
  
How long had it been since this kid had something to eat? Or some water? It was only when she looked up from the thick mass of dog did she notice dark bruises that wrapped around his neck. It looked like he tried to hide it with dirt. The mass of dog laid her head on his lap, keeping solid eye contact with her all the while.  
  
Almost like the dog understood them.   
  
"Oh I'm sorry, baby, I didn't know. She's a good girl, isn't she." Trying to push the bubbling worry down her throat, she kept a constant eye on the door in case the child's parent were to pop up. They were so far out in the countryside, smack dab between the old junkyard where the cock and dog fights went down and the city. Business was always slow, but ever since the economy took a nose dive Darlene could barely make enough in tips to keep her lights on much less pay off her trailer. Not to mention the diner could barely keep itself up, is faded pink wallpaper was already peeling off near the vintage trim, the countertop was starting to rust over. And it wasn't completely uncommon to have to hunt down a mouse that sneaks its way in from time to time. But hell if they didn't make the best biscuits. Glancing once more at the door before looking back to the clearly perplexed boy, she smoothed her skirt down to kneel by the tableside, "My name's Darlene. Darlene Clarks. What's your name, honeydrop?"  
  
"...L...Luca..." With trembling hands, he could barely adjust his cracked glasses which were bound together with three different types of tape and far too large for a boy his size. "Darlene's a pretty name."  
  
"I ain't heard of the name Luca before. It's a nice name." Darlene glanced down at Mama J, to gave a snort before allowing her to come closer. With a gentleness that was completely alien to Luca, she could tell from the roughness of the jolt that bolted through his entire frame, she ensured that her voice was gentle as a fallen feather along the riverside, "Babydoll, are you here with your mom or dad?"  
  
She swore it were impossible, but his deep-toned skin paled instantly into that of a ghost, his pupils dilated. When a spare wind pushed the screen door loose and pushed it back with a slam, Luca flinched again. Mama J rose her head, short fur on end in a ridge down her back.   
  
"It's just the wind, babydoll. Just the wind, okay?" Poor thing was shook up that much was certain. Adjusting her apron before easing herself to stand, "Luca, how old are you."  
  
"....t...twelve..."  
  
There was no damned way. Darlene combed through her mess of dirt blonde hair, attempting to tuck a few strands behind her ear but feeling them brush along her cheek due to the shortness of her cut. It wasn't his size that perplexed her, no it was how small he tried to be. The poor boy tried so hard to compress himself into the smallest space, make noises a mouse would envy for its silence, and those beautiful green eyes of his adamantly refused to meet hers. Yes, she knew this first hand all too well. An inkling of a thought ran as a spark to her wrist, slipping into her apron pocket only to be met with the harsh reality that there was no service for miles. The only phone in the entire place was in the kitchen. Figures there would be no wifi and no service, this husk of a building was built during the days of prohibition and only remodeled when Elvis graced the world in rebellion. It was a miracle it was still standing. But she had to do something. She knew, as small and lanky as she was, she could possibly take a mother. A square punch to the nose with the palm of her hand after a rough tug of the hair and she'd be on her knees.   
  
But she knew for sure she couldn't do battle with a Montgomery man. Not without a slugger or a gun.   
  
She had to keep him here and keep him occupied long enough to call child services. As ineffective and lax as she knew they were, the boy needed someone.   
  
Anyone.   
  
"Whaddya wanna eat, honeydrop?"   
  
"...what's free?"  
Feeling a familiar pang in her throat, Darlene struggled to maintain her composure. He didn't even have time to grab himself some money. Not even a few quarters. Giving the door another once over before crooning down enough to whisper to him in her gentlest voice, "Anything you want, babydoll. Just tell me what you wanna eat. Don't you worry about the bill."  
  
How his face lit up, almost every hint of anxiousness melted from him in that singular moment. For a fraction of a second, he wasn't afraid.   
  
He was just another kid.   
  
"Can I please have some bacon, pancakes, and a milkshake. Please?"   
  
Biting back a giggle, Darlene wrote down her order, although on the main bottom of her ticket her pen wrote as detailed of a description of the boy, the dog, and his state to report to the police. Just in case. "What kinda milkshake, babydoll?"  
"  
Chocolate. Or maybe strawberry."  
  
"I can do a half 'n' half if you want."  
"Okay! I'll have a chocolate and strawberry milkshake. Oh, and Mama J wants sausage and eggs. And some water for both of us."  
  
"Alright, that'll be an order of bacon, pancakes, and a milkshake for Luca here. And for Mama J sausage and eggs. And plenty of water. Anything else, honeydrop?"  
  
"Um...one thing." He motioned for her to come down, and Darlene crooned down to feel his oddly rough hands cup around her ear, his voice a broken whisper, "Please don't tell anyone I was here."  
  
"I promise, baby." Darlene made a lock and throw away the key motion on the corner of her lips, "Not a word."  
  
A deep, gravely bark ruptured from the fang laden maw of the pit bull, making Darlene jump.   
  
"Oh Mama J was just saying thanks." Luca gave her neck and back a firm yet playful scratch, making the beast roll over on her back, presenting her belly. Darlene noted how the dog was obviously a breeder at one point from the sight of her slightly swollen lower belly, how uncomfortably pink it was. "She looks all mean and tough, but she's sweet. You wanna pet her?"  
  
Ice gripped her palm and fingers, clutching them close to her chest. Oh hell no, no it'd eat her up!  
  
But...if it meant helping the boy...  
  
Trembling to the fingertips, Darlene slowly forced her scar laden palm closer and closer, inching to the oddly searing fur of the massive pit. Jumping softly when she heard Mama J's breathing, she slowly pet her chest. Much to her surprise, the pit wormed around on her side of the booth seat. It was only when her thumb brushed up against a deep, embedded scar that much like Luca wrapped around her neck did she pull away.   
  
"See? She likes you." Luca giggled, the noise pleasing Mama J enough for her to wag her stub of a tail.   
  
"H-huh, how 'bout that." She ran her fingers over her palm, memorizing the rough feel of her fur and the deep, almost fresh scar that brushed the tip of her thumb.   
What the hell happened with these two?   
  
"Lemme go on ahead and get started on your order, honeydrop." Stepping over to get him and the dog a quick glass of water, Darlene made her way to the main back of the kitchen. "Juan, I need ya to make up an order for me."  
  
"Oh we finally got someone?" Juan eagerly rushed around the dishes, which had been completed hours ago due to the lack of traffic, and stepped over to her side. It wasn't until his dark eyes caught glimpse of her shaken stance that he took a step back. "Darlene, what's wrong?"

  
"There's a boy in the dinin' room. Twelve, black hair, green eyes. He's half somethin' I know that much. He's gotta pit."  
  
"We don't let dogs in here-"  
  
"-where's the phone."  
  
The urgency in her voice completely silenced any arguments of having a dog in a no pet diner he would have rose. He knew she never got emotional about anything. Not about the drunkards who try to tug on her skirt, not about almost getting fired for punching a drunken patron in the face during the Fourth of July weekend. "Bill's using it at the moment. He's trying to order more patties or something. Darlene, what's going on?"  
  
"I NEED to call someone. The cops, social services, hell I'd call a damned church if it meant getting this kid somewhere safe."  
  
"...run away?"  
  
"He had bruises. On his neck from what I've seen and God only knows where else. He hasn't eaten in days. Maybe even longer than that. We need to get him some help."  
  
"Gotcha." Juan stepped behind the grill, lighting it with a spark before the flames flickered to life, "It might take a bit to warm it up."  
  
Darlene quickly stepped through the kitchen, pushing herself to the main back where she was greeted with her agitated, elderly boss gripping the phone. "Bill, I need-"  
  
"-Dar this can wait I'm in the middle of an order. Yes. Yes I KNOW you said the shipment will be late-"  
  
"-there's a kid in the dining room."  
  
"Kick 'em out if they're causing trouble."  
  
"He NEEDS social services, Bill, he's a runaway."  
  
"Keep him busy and I'll call."  
  
"No, you won't. You didn't call three months ago when there was a fight, and you won't call now. Fire me I don't care but give me the damned pho-"   
  
Pitch black.  
  
Everything in the kitchen turned ink black. What? Why was the power off? All too quickly the dry head began to seep into the cracks of each tile, slowly rising to the ceiling and lingering there for a time before more heat began to collect. No this can't be happening! Not now!  
  
"What the-why's the power out?! I paid it last week, damn it!"  
  
Amidst the sweltering heat that slowly began to encroach upon her, a sharp pit of ice pierced her stomach. "Luca!" Leaping over a pile of discarded boxes and barely able to keep herself from hitting her hip into the counter top, Darlene panted with a heaviness within her lungs. What smelled like rotten eggs? Was there a gas leak? Everything just got hotter and hotter, a wave nearly knocked her to her feet before Darlene felt a flame lap at her heels. Wait, no this wasn't right.   
  
Midday sun poured through dusted windows, the only light left in the place that poured its rays along the floor.   
  
She couldn't breathe.   
  
It wasn't until long moments later, so long that she dared to question time, she slowly began to step around the counter, slowly and faintly placing a hand over her mouth upon the sight.   
  
Two men, pale and heads shaven clean of any strand of hair, lay on the floor. Their necks were near in two, scarlet poured around them as it was lapped up by black fire. Their mouths were unhinged, their jaws snapped from place and hung open not unlike a snake that died while eating. Only when she felt the warmth of flames flicker around her heel again did she snap back to reality, shaking her head furiously to attempt to make sense of this. "L-Luca! Mama J! Where are you?!" Struggling to step over the two fallen bodies due to the smallness of her legs, Darlene barely landed square on her heels before running over to the booth seat.   
  
They were gone.   
  
The only traces of them were two empty cups of water, tipped over on the table with the menu scorched.   
  
This wasn't real.   
  
This...can't be real, could it?  
  
Her weary eyes scanned along the old wood table, running her fingers along its edge to find some semblance of a clue. Darlene felt her knees almost buckle when her fingertips traced along the deeply engraved, more like clumsily scratched in, message.   
  
'THANK YOU DARLEEN'  
  
"Dar, you okay?!" Juan sprinted from the back, tripping over an uneven tile near the counter before stopping just before the burning corpses. "¡Dios mío! ¿Qué diablo mierda esto?!" He took a few steps back, pressing his back to the wall. The rough feel of now scorched wallpaper made him jump clear through his bones before he finally steadied himself, feeling Bill clumsily spray a completely unused fire extinguisher upon the flames. The elderly man only cried out when the foam only cinged in the black flames, their height easing into a manageable smallness. Juan took as deep a breath as he could, trying to brave the rotten egg aftertaste before maneuvering around the singed bodies.   
Darlene was on her knees, eyes vague and lost amidst the chaos of the scene. Hands quivered, the feeling of their message lingered within every nerve of her hand now. Where did they go? Where could they have gone? What kind of trouble were they in?!  
  
"Darlene." Juan's warm palm upon her shoulder made the waitress jump, her eyes slowly turning towards him. Unsure of what else to do, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, feeling her lithe weight lay upon his side, her short-clipped hair brushed his nose.   
  
_What the hell just happened_?


	4. The Inugami Case Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case continues, and now Jerico is finally on the scene.

"Here ya go, Bill's Diner."  
  
"Th-than-nk-nk y-you-ou." Easily able to slip the rather confused taxi driver his payment, a sizable fee considering he had to drive Jerico all the way from Montgomery airport to a tiny shack of a resturant out in the boonies. Stepping out of the cab, Jerico was immediately met with two things.   
  
A massive wave of dust which threatened to get in his eyes, and the smell of sulfur.   
  
As the taxi pulled away in a rush, the troll took a soft breath inward before releasing. All he had to do was keep his tail still, and the humans wouldn't know of his heritage. As Perchella explained it, so long as the Rhunes were still in tact, no human could see past his guise or 'glimmer' as it was called among para. He just had to keep himself calm and keep his tail from touching anything. Simple enough, right? Taking care not to destroy the steps since they looked worn and weary, he made his way to the slightly warped screen door, tapping on the threshold.   
  
"Finally we get someone here. Sorry, pal, the lines've been down. You the private investigator, right? You're not with MPD?" Bill scurried to open the screen door, ushering the troll to enter the now scorched diner, the thick scent of soot and sulfur enough to burn itself into his nostrils. "Sorry 'bout the mess, but we've tried cleanin' it up. The fire JUST went out. Sorry, gettin' ahead of myself. You're Jerico, right? From Whitechapel Lawfirm?"  
  
He nodded with a tilt of the head, taking out his notebook and pen since he could tell already this man would not understand sign nor would he have the patience to withstand his stammering. In truth he reminded Jerico of his former coworkers, the elderly ones anyway that would croon jokes and obscenities from the main top floors of the complex. After writing down his message, he gave the notebook to Bill, 'Yes. Detective Jerico at your service. May I please speak to the two witnesses?'  
  
"Didn't know they hired mute." Bill muttered under his breath, giving him the notebook back before motioning towards the last booth seat. Juan wrapped Darlene up in his leather bomber jacket, keeping an arm around her shoulders and his soft latin voice comforting her. The woman looked completely shaken, unable to look away from her right hand and running the pad of her thumb along her fingertips. He could see the outline of the two men atop the tiled floor as he made his way to the both, their ashes had long since been swept up but the scorch remained. It figured the owner would try to cover this up, his records showed he had one strike left in terms of police involvement in order to keep the place running. Gross negligence was to be expected, even if the diner hadn't seen proper business since the early 2000's.   
  
He stood at the edge of the table, bowing his head in greeting to the two before writing down another message before giving it to them, 'Do either of you know American Sign Language?'  
  
Darlene shook her head numbly, "N-no...I barely passed high school."  
  
"I do." Juan sat up a little straighter in his seat, "Well, I've gotta working knowledge. I did some community work and I learned on site."  
  
Jerico signed a thank you before sitting in front of the two, pulling the satchel he had upon his side upon the table. As he pulled out materials, Bill scuffled his way over to the table, "Darlene get our guest some water. Just cuz he works for free doesn't mean he's a camel-"  
  
"-I-I'm-m f-fin-ne, th-thank-nk y-you." His booming voice, coming out a touch more harsh than normal, took Bill completely off guard. Although he could tell the man would normally mock such an impediment, the fact that the troll was literally a walking giant, glimmer or no glimmer, kept this behavior at bay.  
  
Bill walked away, making Juan chuckle a little, "I've never seen him shut up that fast."  
  
Darlene allowed herself to smile, if only for a moment.   
  
At lease he got them to open up a little.  
  
Jerico placed the anxiousness in the base of his neck aside, slowly beginning to form words with his hands, 'You name is Darlene, right?'  
  
The waitress looked to Juan, "Oh right he's askin' to see if your name's Darlene."  
  
"Oh right, yeah. Darlene Shereese Spence." She cleared her throat, attempting to regain the stability in her voice but failed to.  
  
'I would like to ask you a few questions if that's alright.'  
  
As Juan translated, Darlene nodded. "Yeah."  
  
Having his notebook and pen ready, he continued his signing, 'May I have a description of the boy?'  
  
"Y-yeah, one sec." The waitress pulled a crumpled up scrap of paper from her apron pocket, passing it to the troll, "He had black hair, green eyes, kinda tan lookin'. He's short an' chubby, don't know how tall exactly. He had thick glasses but he didn' look like he was able to have a bath in a day or two. His dog was a pit bull, I'd say four to five years old. Oddly well behaved." Jerico's head tilt made her smile a little, "Sorry, I was raised with pits. My old man let one of his fightin' dogs in the house one day and he told me to play with it." She opened up her palm to him, showing the deep scars along her fingers and the blunt of her hand, "Kinda learned the hard way not to do that."  
  
Jerico took notes with one hand, leaving the two in a moment of silence before placing his pen down and signing again, 'Thank you. As I understand you were very kind to the boy.'  
  
"Oh Darlene? Yeah, she's a sweetheart to kids." Juan laughed, "Not so much to anyone over 15 though."  
  
"I saw myself in him." Darlene's voice reflected a rough softness, a vulnerability that Jerico all too well could sympathize with. "...I was put into foster care when I was lil', after this whole thing happened." She motioned to her hand again. "I knew he was a runaway cuz...I was one once. He didn't have time to take money, he was scared of anything that sounded like a door openin'. And...he and the dog had bruises and scars around their neck."  
  
Jerico wrote it down, paying special mind to the detail of the bruises and scars, 'Did both have scars or just the dog?'  
  
After Juan translated, Darlene took a breath, "The boy...Luca's his name...had bruises and a few cuts. They were really dark, almost black and a lil' purple. I couldn't see anything else, but he was wearing a long sleeve shirt and jeans." As she watched Jerico take down notes, Darlene lightly ran her thumb along the deep scars on her palm, "The dog had scars, in the same place. From what I felt they were deep, kinda looked a few days old from what little I could see. The dog was a fighter an' then a breeder, I knew that much. He called her Mama J I think, but she didn't have a collar."  
  
Finishing his notes, Jerico offered the waitress a smile, 'Thank you. You're doing wonderful so far.'  
  
"He's payin' you a compliment." Juan teased Darlene, making her shove at his shoulder. "What? He is."  
  
"Shush."   
  
'And what happened next?'  
  
After another moment of translation, Darlene's smile quickly faded, "...I went to the back to call for the police. Anyone to get the kid away from here before his old man popped up. We don't have phone service out here, and the only working line is in the back of the kitchen near the freezer. We've tried getting new lines for years but 'is place ain't made real money in a long time."   
"Then the power went out." Juan added, waving his hands as he spoke, "Like straight on black. And it started getting hella hot."  
"I went to go make sure Luca didn't leave, or that no one came in or something. When I came into the dinin' room...y-you wouldn't believe me."  
"Darlene I toldja you're not nuts, I saw it too."  
"When I told Bill he just ignored it."  
Looking over his shoulder, ensuring that Bill was preoccupied with scrubbing the floors in vain with brillo pad and heated water, Jerico gently took Darlene's hand, bringing it up to his ear. The moment her calloused fingertips brushed the elongated cartridge, his glimmer flickered out for a fraction of a second. Juan pressed himself to the leather of his seat, wide-eyed and terrified.   
  
But Darlene's eyes only widened. Not from fear, but with realization, a sort of calm that overcame a person when viewing something fantastical for a second time. "O...okay." The troll placed her hand back upon the table with a softness that rivaled air, retreating the massive, calloused palm back to his pen and paper. "When I came in, it smelled like rotten eggs. An' there was fire. Black fire. It felt hot, like way hotter than normal fire, but it didn't burn me."  
  
Jerico nodded, taking notes before signing, 'Please, tell me more.'  
  
"Th-there were these two skin heads, there's an ol' junkyard down the road a piece, 'bout fifteen or so miles where a bunch of 'em get t'gether. Sometimes they hold cockfights, sometimes it dog fightin', but most of the time they jus' stew down there. I've never been down 'at way before, an' I never plan to." Her weary eyes slowly cast up to Juan, the sincere hue of which calmed him from his fright of the troll. "I don't' agree with what they say, an' they pissed me off once."  
  
'Are they regular customers here?'  
  
"Unfortunately." Juan grit his teeth, placing his chin on his palm as he leaned on the table, "They're our main clientele. We kinda boom after a dog fight or cock fight. I've gotta stay in the back for obvious reasons."  
  
"There was a confrontation last July," Darlene began to lax in her chair, raking fingers through fringed hair, "Juan was helpin' me take out food. One of 'em started their racist crap. I told 'im to simmer down. He took me by the collar. I tried to fight back but it's like fightin' a damned bull. Juan managed to pry me loose. They left, and I wanted to call th' cops but Bill said I'd be terminated if I did." She cast her eyes upon the battered table, her voice heavy laden with a grim acceptance. "...this's all I've got."  
  
'You said they held animal fights and meetings, right?' Jerico signed. 'Do you know the men's names that were killed?'   
  
"No. They're all the same to me." Darlene rolled her shoulders, "All pale as marshmallow fluff, skin head, whinin' bout not havin' their piece of the pie when they didn't even offer to help bake it."   
  
"The only one I know by name's Joshua." Juan wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow, "He's the one that took a hold'a Darlene last July. He seems to be the ringleader or somethin'."  
  
Jerico finished taking his notes, closing the notebook before signing once more, 'Thank you very much for your cooperation.'  
  
When he offered his hand to shake, Darlene took it immediately. Juan, after a moment's more hesitation, did the same.  
  
"Detective, I need to ask you a huge favor." The waitress ran her fingertips along the scars of her palm again, "Please make sure Luca is safe. If you can, get him adopted out or something. Foster care screwed me over, I don't want it to happen to that kid."  
  
'I'll do all that I can ma'am." Jerico rose from the booth table, Juan and Darlene followed suit. He turned to walk away, but stopped after a step, turning and slipping a hand into his pocket. Without a word, he leaned over to embrace the smaller, frail human woman. "...th-this-s i-is-s n-not-t a-all y-y-you-ou a-are-re."  
  
Darlene, completely dumbfounded by the deep whisper, only nodded. It wasn't often she got hugged by a customer, let alone a detective. She kept her arms to her sides, but felt a weight landing itself in her apron pocket.   
  
Jerico only smiled at Juan, patting his shoulder before casually stepping out of the diner.   
  
"...okay, you saw that too, right? I'm not going loco?" Juan paced the soot-laden floor, raking fingers along his scalp as he tried to piece together what had just transpired, "H-he had 'ese long ass ears...a long tooth looking thing...and did he have a damned tail?!"  
  
Slipping a hand into her apron pocket, her tired eyes began to light up with a curiosity as she wrapped her fingers around what felt like a few dollars. She had worse tips.  
However, when she pulled the bills out, instead of being greeted with about five ones as she anticipated the waitress was met with five hundreds.   
  
Who was this man?


	5. The Inugami Case Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inugami Case continues, but Jerico has a dream. Or perhaps a memory.

"What do you mean you spent five hundred dollars getting information?"   
  
Perchella's annoyed voice rang clear through Jerico's twitching ears, making him groan slighlty from the pain of a now piercing ring that rattled his skull. It was hard not to feel the full weight of her voice in the modest hotel room's thin walls. He could hear everything else going on, much of which he didn't want to know about, so Perchella's rightfully agitated voice only added to his headache. "Th-the-e m-man-nag-ger-er d-didn-nt-t w-wann-nna t-talk-k."  
  
She sighed heavily, not unlike a disapointed mother, over the phone before calming her voice back into its controled tone, "Okay. But PLEASE be more careful with the rest of your allowance. I may be furnishing your investigation, Jerico, but even I don't have all the money in the world. Next time just beat it out of the old fool. I've already contacted local authorities on him about his gross neglegance."  
  
Hopefully, the waitress and cook got out of there. "D-did-d y-you-ou g-get-t th-the-e in-nf-form-mati-tion-n I-I c-coll-llect-ted-d?"   
  
"Yes, as a matter of fact I did. I consoled the Fate and she told me all about this Joshua. I'm sending you the files to your computer now."  
  
"M-ma-am-m?"  
  
"Yes, Jerico?"  
  
"C-can-n y-you ask-k th-the Fa-ate-te...wh-what-t b-bec-comes-s o-of-f D-Darle-lene Sher-ree-eese-se Sp-Spenc-ce?"  
  
A long moment of silence followed before Perhcella sighed, this time a softer breath void of any agitation. "I'll ask. But, Jerico, sometimes it's best that we not know their outcomes. I know you've a kind heart, it's why you're one of my best Reapers. But please, for your own good, try not to get too invested in other. Para or not."  
  
"...I-I c-can't-t d-do th-that-t."  
  
"I know."  
  
Jerico's laptop beeped, breaking the tense atmosphere. He opened the files, scanning over them as he balanced his phone on his shoulder and cheek. "I-I h-hav-ve 'em-m."  
  
"Good. Although my plan for you to go to the junkyard to investigate is out of reach now. Damned skinheads."   
  
"Th-they-y c-can't-t h-hurt-t m-me."  
  
"That's not what I'm worried about. Believe me I know they can't lay a hand on you. But I need for you to lay as low as possible before going down there. I'll send one of my ravens to scout it out in the morning while they're busy and have it report back. If it is an Inugami then we'll be able to proceed. If it's a Cerberus..."   
  
"C-call-ll A-Ala-labas-ster?" Jerico smiled a little.  
  
Perchella stiffled a laugh, "Only if it's a Cerberus. Remember, anything involving Angels and Cerberus of any nature is slighlty outside my jurisdicton. Slighlty. Until either Chaos or Despair contacts you, I need you to stay at the hotel. Look into the case, but don't forget to take a break from time to time. I know how you get when you're in the middle of a story."  
  
"Y-yes-s Ma-am'm-m."  
  
"God I wish you'd at least call me Hel. Anyway I'm going to leave you to your investigation. And Jerico."  
  
"Ma-am-m?"  
  
"For the love of God remember to sleep this time." With that, she hung up.   
  
Jerico shrugged, reclining in his oddly itchy sheets before reopening the file. Joshua Vangurd, norse surname. The man thus far seemed rather unremarkable. Multiple counts of disturbing the peace, one count of hate crime that was swept under the rug due to his being a minor and in the mid eighties, dropped out of high school before his senior year. Married soon after then divorced...  
  
The troll sat up,  the light of the laptop reflecting against thick lenses while he continued to read down the page. How almost stereotypical his mundane life was, yet how familiar the blackened roots of his ugliness would wrap around anyone he didn't deem as worthy. Humanity didn't change, they never change. A dull pain pierced his eyes, how long had he looked at the screen? Each word became more and more blurred, his lids grew heavier with the odd blue lights of his laptop that radiated an oddly calming aura that lured him to relax.   
  
Maybe if he just rest his eyes for a moment...  
  
Just for a moment...  
  
* * * *

 ** _Hide._**  
  
 _It was an instinct that pulsed through each vein, settling deep inside his chest. Shadows and veil were his only shield, his silent companion that never waned, never once flinched away from him. It wasn't like he had a pack. The last elder died long before he learned to forridge or dig for teh first time. His blurred eyes were hidden beneath a thick layer of matted locks cast over nearly ever feral feature save for his massive tusks and thick jaw, his eyes blacker than the coal that these creatures he believed were called Humas forridged for to near death's brink. It was hard to adjust to a light you've never known._  
  
 _"Hey!"_  
  
 ** _Hide._**  
  
 _"Is someone out there?"_  
  
 ** _HIDE._**  
  
 _Unsteady footsteps clammored about decaying leaves, their crunch lost amidst thick smog that lingered as a cloak over the rugged mountain side. Normally he would obey his instincts, hide deep inside the earth with black rock and caged birds. But today was different. As small, airy footsteps ravaged the fallen leaves, pricking his elongated ears with their mute sounds, he placed the last mound of earth atop the breathless canary._  
  
 _Another death by gas._  
  
 _As his massive tail swayed behind him, long enough to dip into the murky, chilled creek, the troll heard the last of crumbling leaves. And soon after, felt a sihlouette of a small presence._  
  
 ** _HIDE._**  
  
 _Turning his massive head, mindful of the sparce branches of husk that remained atop one of the few barely surviving trees, the trolls eyes met the flickering flame of an oil lamp._  
  
 _A huma pup. A frail thing, hair as black as coal and smothered in soot. What perplexed the troll was the huma's eyes. Never before had he seen such a shade of blue, not sine the sky was smothered by smog._  
  
 _ **Hide**. _  
  
_Slowly, the boy eased the lamp upon a rock near the creek bed, taking cautious steps towards him. He stopped when he was only a pace away, taking a single knee upon the earth. The troll found this behavior peculiar for two reasons; one was due to the pup's small size compared to his own. And two was how similar it was to how the elders approached their prey. It was a primal move, one that was akin to both troll and human when encounering a beast in the wild to ensure there was no percievable threat._  
  
 ** _Hide._**  
  
 _ **NO**._  
  
 _"It's okay." The boy spoke in a softness unknowng to him, his little hand slid beneath his patchwork, burlap coat to pull a half eaten buiscut. "Don't run away. See? I'm not mean. I ain't gonn' hurtcha. Wan' some food? It's good."_  
  
 _Tilting his head, the troll eased upon his knuckes as they dug into the earth, crooning his head to sniff the buiscut. Trolls were predominately forrigers, able to eat just about any root, berry, or vegitable they could pluck from the earth. Meat was a sacred topic, only elders were allowed to hunt from what he remembered, and only for special occassions such as for a mother who birthed a pup, or the death of an alpha._  
  
 _After a loud snort, the troll plucked the buiscut from the pup's tiny hand with his fingers, tossing it into his maw. The texture of bread was completely unknown to him, dry and thick while clinging to the roof of his mouth with a faint aftertaste of lard._  
  
 _It was the most delicious thing he'd ever eaten._  
  
 _"Ya like it, I can tell!" This seemed to please the huma pup, the small boy seemed to brighten far more than his lamp at his reaction. Sitting cross legged on the earth, the boy tilted his head. The troll did as the boy, crossing his legs as his massive tail landed across his lap, tilting his head in time with the pup. The stared at one another, worlds unseen and unfathomed colliding in this one moment. And yet, it was like staring into a mirror give or take a few centuries. There was no darkness, no hatred, no blistering words of ignorance or greed._  
  
 _Just innocent curiosity._  
  
 _"Mama made 'em for me an' pa this mornin'. I snuck an extry one when pa wa'n' lookin'. Can ya understan' me? 'em yankees tell us we can' talk fer nothin', but I think ya can understand me good."_  
  
 _Of course he could. For at least fifty years, the troll's only encounter within the realm of spoken language was overhearing humas muttering to one another from behind the shadows. Honestly he hadn't heard his own tongue since the last elder died, and the packs withered. He was barely only a pup himself, not even 1000 years old yet. He knew for certain his body was soon to begin the 'changing', where a pup became a full troll. But as the elders warned this was a dangerous time, for his skin was still yet soft and not thickened yet._  
  
 _"Okay, nod if ya can, shake yer head if no."_  
  
 _Clumsily, the troll bobbed his head._  
  
 _The huma pup squealed in delight, "I knew't! I knew ma was tellin' the truth! She says 'at trolls gobble up 'em canaries in th' mines when th' miners'r gone!"_  
 _He roughly shook his head._  
  
 _"Wait...ya don'?"_  
  
 _It that what humas thought about them? Was that why the forridged for their rock so desperately? Was it perhaps payment for the deaths of their birds? The troll grunted, patting his hand upon the mound of freshly dug dirt before the tree._  
  
 _"...wait, you burried it? A canary?"_  
  
 _He nodded._  
  
_The pup seemed confused at first, but this melted into that innocent curiosity shared between them. "Ohhh I getcha. Yer a nice troll, ain'cha?"_  
  
 _He nodded._  
  
 _"Well, Imma nice boy! My teacher told me 'at before. So we can me pals. Ya gotta name? I wanna know what ta call ya from now on."_  
  
 _The troll attempted to speak, but much to his frutration the only noise that would come was gutteral, feral sounds. Of course, he never attempted human speech before now._  
 _The huma pup tilted his head a little before patting his knees in resolve, "'at's alright. Yer jus' backwards's all. Doncha worry none, I'll give ya mine name firs'. Then you gimme yours. 'kay?"_  
  
 _He nodded._  
  
 _"Alrigh'. My name's-"_  
  
  
* * * *

Jerking his head up with a desperate gasp of air, Jerico felt his heavy eyes near drag him back to the sheets. How long had he been out? Raising his head from the stomach laying position he somehow ended up in during the night, the screen on his laptop now blackened in hybernation mode. Although the moment he attempted to sit up, he was greeted with a massive throb that overtook his skull, almost burning along his neck and eyes before he could brace it with an open palm. Slowly, whereas to not upset this dull ache, he pressed his back to the headboard as he attempted to nurse himself.   
  
That dream again.   
  
Running the pad of his forefinger along the mouse to rouse the screen back to light, a piercing blue seared itself into his heavy eyes. Near blinded, he ran his hand along the nightstand, nearly tipping over the phone from off its hook before finally grasping his glasses. A quick push along the bridge of his nose, his sight was restored. A deep yawn rumbled through his deep diaphram before a pixelated version of Flight of the Valkyries. Given there weren't that many people in his inner circle anyway, that left only one possibility.   
  
Perchella.  
  
Pressing his thumb to the small sensor to liven up the device, a singular text lit the screen. '46th Street in Downtown Montgomery. Billy Ray's Pool Hall. 1 human male found dead in black flames. I contacted Alabaster last night, he says it's an Inugami. If it is a Cerberus, call me immediately.' In a rush, he laid the phone upon the nightstand, nearly tripping when shedding his wrinkled button up and dress slacks off, turning the knobs with no regard for whether or not it would be too cold to stomach for long. As he suspected, a bath in liqid ice. It was hard enough to hunch down so water could actually lather his thick locks, already his sturdy frame trembled from the sheer cold. A clumsy scrubbing with the thin wisp of factory soap that was provided for him, trying to balance with his tail before gathering a portion of shampoo into his palm before scrubbing his scalp-damn it he left his glasses on! Grunting softly before taking them off and placing them on the sink, Jerico attempted to finish the task of showering quickly. Cautiously stepping out of the shower since even in his rush the last thing he wanted was to trip and damage the sink with his thick skull, the troll made swift work of his feral teeth before rummaging through the few suits he owned. Perchella insisted when he began that 'no Reaper of hers was going to be caught dead wearing common clothes'. A silent curse threatened to slip past clinched teeth upon realizing he left his glasses on the sink in the bathroom, he stepped into the tiny, barely functioning room to grasp them, sliding them on his nose. Although, the buzz that wracked his nerves haulted as slate eyes adjusted into the mist blurred reflection. It was almost alien now, seeing how glimmer molded his shape so vastly different, and yet so similiar to what he knew. He still had traditional troll features, a strongly pronounced nose with dark set eyes and thick hair, tusks that appeared much smaller that jutted from his lower lip. A worn palm ran along his neck and chin, feeling stubble coarsly brush the skin. Lathering the small sliver of soap between his fingers and palm before lathering his thick, muscular neck and firm chin, he managed to slowly, almost delicately run a humble blade across thick hide. He knew this wouldn't cut through, not easily at least, but the last thing Jerico wanted was to purchase another razor again. The only metal he could use for his thick troll hair was a stainless steel, and he constantly had to keep it sharpened or it wouldn't do the work. Trolls traditionally had some stubble or a full beard.   
  
But Jerico was far from a traditional troll.   
  
Splashing a hand full of icy water unto the freshly shaven skin before dabbing it dry, he slid a brawny shoulder and arm into each sleeve, his larger fingers tended to always find the small buttons a trying task. A familiar, warming yellow caught his eye as it was burried beneath an unkept pile of white button up shirts. His favorite tie. His only tie. It was a trick to remember, but Perchella taught him well. Loop, loop, pull. A small tug upwards to tighten it, and there. After buttoning up his deep green vest, Jerico quickly typed in a text to the closest Uber driver. Thankfully one wasn't too far away.  
  
As always, the drive was painfully silent, awkward tension mounted in Jerico's neck from the first moment. His driver, a well mannered college student, attempted small talk. Thankfully he understood basic sign, enough to tell that a flowing dialogue between the two of them for the full fifteen minutes would be near impossible without severe effort. A quick payment, and the troll stepped out of the black van.  
  
Already he could smell the sulfur.  
  
Adjusting his glasses once more, Jerico stepped past the few onlookers, pasty faced teenagers with vacant expressions and dull eyes who should clearly be in class but are far too engrossed in the goings on around them.  
  
Police tape. Damn it.   
  
"Hey, this's a crime scene not an icecream social!" The seething, rural tone of the officer, a man in his mid thirties with a perpetual scowl engrained on into every crevice of his skin, nearly swatted Jerico's hands from the faded yellow tape.  
  
Right, Perchella told him what to do it this ever happened.   
  
With a slow, careful breath whereas to not agitate the man even more, the troll pulled out his wallet, bound faux black leather and crackecd from years of use. Opening the wallet with a good deal of restraint, he allowed the singular metalic disk to reflect within sunlight, lighting rhunes that cast its spell upon the human's eyes. The officer blinked, as if to attempt to break the spell but unable to before holding up the tape. The troll had to hunch down considerably, barely able to get beneath the plastic pathway that was forged for him.  
  
"Sorry about that. Didn't know we had a detective already on the case. Been havin' to keep these damned kids out of here, y'know."  
  
Judging from the place it hadn't been renovated since the 80's. A placid purple tile littered the floor with black velvet and neon lights decored the walls, ages old pool tables who's apholstery was bound to give out any day if not taken for repair. Even the pool balls were so faded and worn from years of use that Jerico had a difficult time telling which one was which. It was odd to consider how a child and his dog would be able to slip in, but from what he was told the owners were lax when it came to their patrons, even allowing kids to come in from time to time due to their not serving alchohol until the weekend.   
  
Jerico nodded, attempting to sign before the officer lead him to the scene. Thankfully he arrived before forensics were able to come in and attempt to make sense of what science was nowhere near capable of explaining. But if this was an all human police force...  
  
"Ah, Detective Jerico! Good to see ya."  
  
Turning his head, a sigh overcame him of relief upon seeing a pearlescent horn jutting from the brow of a young woman, no older than 25 and dark skinned with lilac eyes. No matter how many times Perchella told him there was always at least one paranormal working for every single police force in the world, it never failed to ease the tension that wound so tight in his lungs that breath was near impossible. This too seemed to appease the human officer, courtesy of glimmer of course. Thankfully it meant that, to humans at least, para were able to live among man kind with little provication for trouble. It was a tightrope balance to always maintain, but it meant security for both sides.   
"Now don't go flirtin' on the job again, Sal. Y'know we got jumped on to las' time."   
  
Sal laughed with an airy tone, commonplace for unicorn, "Don't worry, Jimason, I ain't flirting. Just welcoming the detective is all. Besides ya know I've got a thing for red heads anyway."  
  
"Yeah yeah."  
  
Sal's eyes glinted for a moment towards Jerico, which sent a jolt of alert through him. Unicorns were masters of distraction, and it would give him time to investigate with little interferance from Officer Jimason. Kneeling before the outline of cinder and ash, the troll felt a lingering wisp of smoke cross his nose. This was from early this morning, comparing to the scorch marks left behind at the diner. And judging by the husk of skeleton whose flesh and skin were all but molten away, the fire must have been intense. It was a stark contrast with a cerbrus from what Jerico remembered of them, three headed hell hounds with a different element spouting out of each maw. Most commonly for cerbrus one head controled fire, another ice, and the third electricity. As he glanced up from the cinged body to the door, that belonging to the bathroom of the pool hall, he opened it up to the smallest extent.   
  
The fire came from inside the bathroom, not outside.  
  
The creature was attempting to defend itself.  
  
"So what's your take on this, Detective?" Jimason tapped his pen to the wall, the icy jar of which made Jerico stand.  
  
He began form words with his hands again, directly motioning them to Sal, 'I believe it is an Inugami with a child, it appears to be out of self defense.'  
  
"What's he sayin'?"  
  
Oh thank God he didn't understand ASL.  
  
"He says it's a gas leak, someone must've left behind one of 'em e-cigs and it caused an explosion." Sal smoothly spoke, without a moment's hinderance.  
  
"Right I've seen 'at on Facebook last week."  
  
As Jimason's voice lulled about trivial matters, Jerico managed to slip out of the main pool hall into the bathroom. He snapped a few pictures of the scorch marks, where the flames had burst from and what angle. If anyone could tell him if this was the work of a cerbrus or not, it was Alabaster.   
  
Within minutes, he had his response.  
  
'No, this is not the work of a cerbrus. The damage would have been far more severe. You are safe in your assumption it is an inugami. Proceed with caution, friend.'  
That was all Jerico needed to hear.   
  
While the officers were preoccupied with their conversation, the troll slipped his hand into his vest pocket and pulling a seemingly mauled e-ciggarette and placing it at just the right angle on the floor. Perchella did warn him to take some precautions, and to always have some alabye on hand just in case the human police began to ask too many questions.   
  
"There's our culprit!" Sal leaned behind Jerico, kneeling to pluck the e-cig with gloved hands, showing it to Jimason, "Can't believe we missed it."  
  
"Huh. I could've sworn we didn't see that here earlier. Better take it to the lab, ya never know."  
  
"Don't worry I got it." She smiled at Jerico before slipping it into her bag, walking back into the pool hall to invesitate more. She gave the slightest, most subdued bob of the head as those lilac eyes met his.  
  
Right! His cue to leave.  
  
Jerico signed a quick 'thank you' to the officers before making his way out.  
  
The boy was on the move, he knew that, but to where? From what he remembered researching last night, the child in question had no immediate family. No family friends. No one except his dog.   
  
The Inugami.   
  
Walking cautiously on the sidewalk, he dailed for Perchella.  
  
"Ah, Jerico. What did you find out?"  
  
"I-i-in-nug-gam-mi-i."  
  
"Yes, I just recieved a call from Alabaster confirming that. I have to consult the Fate and see where the boy is planning on going. If he has an inugami it's only a matter of time before more fatalities happen. Three human deaths are easy to cover up as happenstance, but any more than that and we have an issue. Jerico, are you familiar with Inugami?"  
  
"N-no-o ma-a'am-m."  
  
"Alright. I'll have Edwin send you all the information he has on them to your phone. Be careful but please hurry."  
  
"Ye-es-s ma-a'am-m."  
  
"If for one day I'd like for you to call me Perchella. Anyway I've already contacted an Uber for you. It'll pick you up at the corner."  
  
And sure enough, there it came.   
  
Thankfully it was the same driver as before. A similiar failed attempt at pleasant conversation before he began to drive. Apparently Perchella must have paid the man handsomly since he didn't ask questions on why he was essentially driving around town. Hearing a small chirp from his phone, Jerico opened it up.   
  
Canis Vindictae, also known as Inugami. A rare phoenomenon in which a non paranormal creature becomes para. Are known as 'spirits of vengence' and only attatch themselves to a human being on one of two occassions; the first of which being out of protection. The second, to seek revenge over its death. Are capable of intangibility, commonly known as phasing. Can manipulate a black fire that smells of sulfur, very similiar to a Cerbrus but arguably hotter. No known weaknesses have been recorded, proceed with extreme caution.   
  
Jolting from a spark that lit just between his temples, Jerico patted his driver's shoulder, showing him an address on his phone.  
  
He knew where the boy and dog were bound to go.


	6. The Inugami Case part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inugami case comes to a close. How will this end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning, this part of the chapter has graphic parts, depictions of dog fighting, blood, all of that. If you are squeamish I apologize in advance. As a precaution, please read with discretion, best to be safe than sorry after all.

Blackness began to smother a heavy sky which overlooked the abandoned junkyard, coiling around the moon to suffocate its light. A thick weight, far beyond any natural humidity, ran its claws throughout the space as skeletons of trucks long past their prime and spires of tire and car parts twisted as serpents bathed in shadow. Jerico held his mouth, pressing his back to the tin wall on the back end of the garage. He could taste the nicotine and liquor in the air, an undercurrent of iron-laden blood spiking his senses into near nausea. He never wanted to smell things like this again, uneasiness clawed its way down his throat from the lack of coal dust to soothe him and remind him of home.  
  
This was no place for a child.  
  
Chills pricked his spine as a loud, dying whimper of a dog pierced through the humid air, cheering boiled through his ears, burning them to the tips. Feral, reluctant barking weaved through liquor laced cheers and profanities, bouncing within tin and tire. The troll clinched his chest, trying to feel his heartbeat amidst the smothering sensations while the beasts' festival attempted to drown out the fading pulse of a battle weakened heart. Each thump came farther and farther apart.  
  
Until the loud pop of a gun burst through the crowd, almost silencing them for a moment.  
  
Almost.  
  
He ground his tusks into teeth, nearly nicking his lip and causing a single drop of blood to slide down his lower lip, growling deep inside his chest as the cold of the metal raked through his clothes. In this still silence, a rumbling of metal and rubber clamored from a small distance, he was only able to see its creator from a singular ray of light from the mostly closed doors of the garage.  
  
A moving mass, a deep familiar growl laced in blood boiling rage, sharp as gravel with the slightest scent of sulfur that gravitated towards his lips.  
  
They were here.  
  
"M-mama J...why're we here?" Luca's hurried whisper, shallow and desperate, wavered in the air as thunder began to roll.  
  
Jerico remembered his file. He was 12, only 4'9 with black hair and green eyes, half Romani which was a surprise given his father's affiliation, a astigmatism, and a mild case of asthma. And obviously anxiety. A solid streak of lightning hit the control landscape, and for a singular moment, the world was pure white. He could see it, even from this distance. Fear shone in those large emerald eyes, his olive features paled to the bones while the inugami, a sturdy pit bull with massive scarring around her neck, bore a set of blazing crimson that pulsed with a hot rage that reflected his own. He knew what she was here for, he knew what must be done. As the world faded back to black, the troll reared back his elbow before slamming it into the patchwork fuse box that hung beside the back exit. He didn't feel the aged wires spark from the alien air, couldn't feel scraps of metal attempt to scathe him as the power flickered off completely and a faint scampering of claws on concrete and annoyed drunken voices littered the tin roof, didn't register the growing heat as sparse drops of ice began to patter on it.  
  
All he could feel was rage.  
  
The front doors flung open, with a burst of black flames that poured inside. Amidst the sulfur, Jerico nearly lurched at the strong scent of iron and blood. He gripped the rusted lock, gripping it in his calloused hand before giving it a singular jerk, feeling it turn to fragments just beneath his calloused skin before it hit the dirt. Baritone screams rumbled the tin walls, his ears twitched as the bounced about like mad. It made the task of mapping out the layout of the place easier. Wrapping two fingers around the bridge of his glasses, the troll slid them into his vest pocket whereas to protect them.  
  
_Hide_.  
  
It was almost too easy to slide into the door unheard, crawling akin to his ancestors on knuckle and knee with the stillness of a feather hitting the water's surface, so soft whereas to not even cause a single ripple. After all, shadows were an old friend. Concrete floors, the thick scent of motor oil and gunpowder and blood, liquor and tobacco mixed in.  
  
And the growing scent of sulfur  
.  
"What the fuck's goin' on, Josh?!"  
  
"How th' hell'm I supposed t' know?!"  
  
Ah, there he was. He crawled through the darkness, sliding behind the skeleton of a yet to be worked on pick up with ease, no small task given his massive frame. The booming howls and whimpers of weakened dogs quivered within the walls, clanking chains quivered around their necks before being burned right in their masters' hands, and the sound of Luca leading them out the back door while the inugami set their palms and fingers ablaze. The scent of burning flesh was never pleasant for him, but he rathered it to the thick, dying scent of blood. In the calamity of it all, he slid long fingers into his slacks pocket, dialing a memorized code. It wasn't difficult considering how worn from the oils of his fingertips the numbers were.  
  
A timed text to 911.  
  
He had fifteen minutes until it was sent. And then another twenty before they got here if he were lucky.  
  
A loud crash against the main back wall of the garage caught Jerico's ear, a thick warmth of flame and sulfur rose higher in the air. Joshua's heartbeat was thundering, near humming as a mouse before being drowned by a feral growl that could boil the blood of the most hardened man. Piercing red lit a portion of the room, a deep sanguine shade which only formed around the man in question as a suggestion of light than illumination, and Jerico knew that this was it. He had to move and had to move now. Luca wrapped his arms around Mama J's neck as she snarled at the man, towering at a whooping 6 foot with shaven features, the build of a brute and the lingering scent of liquor and nicotine and God only knew what else. Mama J leveled her shoulders as she lowered her massive head, gnashing sharpened teeth while black flames leaked from their crevices and dripped with a sizzle unto the concrete. Hair stood erect on her spine, pricking Luca's bruised arms that fit the fingertips and palms of the perpetrator pressed to the wall, he could only look upon the man for a brief moment with those terrified emerald eyes before closing them tight. "M-Mama J, let's go!"  
  
Joshua immediately eased, snarling his porcelain teeth before lifting his back from the tin, "Boy what the hell you doin' here? Couldn't even die right, couldja?" Luca bit his lower lip, his entire form trembling to the core but giving a rough jolt when the man rose his voice again, "ANSWER ME YOU LIL' SHIT-!" A solid ball of black flame burst near his shoulder, lapping upon his tattooed skin and smoldering it in that instant. Joshua grunted in pain, holding the now blackened, crisped skin as his eyes widened. "That's it!" Leather slickly slid through belt loops, sulfur melded with black flames as they built within Mama J's molten maw, the humid air nearly sparked.  
  
However, in that instant, a massive hand gripped Joshua's fist.  
  
The man squirmed, trying to jerk his hand free but the vice only held its steadfast pressure. "What the hell's your problem?! It's MY kid-!" A primal, sharp scream ripped through his tightly clenched teeth as, within an inkling of a second, a loud popping crunch echoed in the now silent garage. Power slowly flickered on for a brief moment before fading to black, showing just how coal black Jerico's eyes were as he released the bothersome hand.  
  
"Who the hell're you?!"  
  
"How'd'ja get in here!"  
  
"This's private property get th' hell out-!"  
  
Jerico only had to turn his head in the slightest degree, each crease of his skin etched in primal, lethal darkness. It was beyond words, beyond pride and reason, only a singular look of his unnaturaly ink eyes casued the group of men to back away. Even worms knew when a preditor was among them.  
  
Mama J growled, releasing another feral bark but more to gain Jerico's attention. He could feel it in his skin, the blood toned eyes of hers practically screamed it to his very being.  
  
**MOVE**.  
  
Turning his back to the coward nursing the pile of pulp and snapped bone that was once his hand, Jerico knelt in a slow motion upon one knee before Mama J. His features eased back into more of a stern softness, shadow flickering back to prominence as bobbed her head to the side, as if to motion him to move. "W-we b-both-th kn-know-w I-I c-can't l-let-t y-you."  
  
The war damaged pit attempted to snarl, but Luca's arms coiled around her thick neck tightly, trembling as he pressed his brow into her thin fur. Her taunt muscles slowly began to ease as her grave, primal sounds softened into a near mute.  
  
"I-if-f y-you-u k-kill h-him, y-you w-won't-t b-be h-here-re f-for L-Luc-ca." A mountain twinged dialect despite his stammering, but the gentle tones seemed to comfort the boy who was more perplexed at the mountain of a man that came to his aid rather than petrified. He undid his wallet, showing her the rhune. She only sniffed at it, letting him know that she wasn't affiliated with other para. The inugami was an oddity, a lone wolf of circumstance. "I-if-f y-you-ou c-come w-with-th m-me, y-you'll n-nev-ver s-see thi-this m-man-n ag-gain."  
  
The moment Luca's arms loosened from her neck, she launched herself to the troll, attempting to sink her teeth into his arm. The boy was terrified, stepping over to pull her but stopping when he saw it.  
  
Her teeth didn't sink in, not one inch. And Jerico, this primal towering giant of strength did not flinch even in the slightest degree. Instead, his massive hand ran its length down her back and up again, his fingertips tracing the deep scars in her neck.  
  
Mama J leaned into his lap, wagging her stump tail and lowered her cropped ears.  
  
Jerico offered a soft smile to Luca, feeling the pit bull's jaw unhinge from his wrist. Luca's large emerald eyes glanced to the concrete floor, then to the giant before taking a single step.  
  
Joshua stood up immediately, snarling to the teeth with pale skin and bulging veins, "Nuh uh ya damned darkie bastard! That'n's MY kid! Ya ain't-!"  
  
It happened quicker than even Mama J's eyes could track.  
  
The troll's fist, with all the force of a steel wrecking ball, launched its full pressure into Joshua's jaw. The coward landed skull first into the concrete, a mess of blood and shattered tooth and bone littered the already sullied concrete. Without saying another word, the troll knelt back down, giving the slightest nod to the boy. Luca nearly sprinted to him, climbing upon his back in a position much akin to piggy-back before being lifted up. Mama J stepped to his right, sitting by his leg as if to wait for his order. Jerico slowly turned his head back to the pathetic excuses for humans before him, pale and ugly with gnashing mouths and hearty bellies. Without even moving, nor speaking a single word, his ver presence screamed one single command.  
  
**Disappear.**  
  
Each man ensured they were a sizable distance from the troll, the dog, and the boy as they walked out of the garage. And still they were, not even daring to move until the sirens whirred loudly in distance nearly an hour later.

* * * *  
  
"I think Mama J likes you."  
  
Jerico's deep green vest wrapped itself around Luca's shoulders, his hair still drying from a well-deserved shower. A cup of steaming hot chocolate with whipped cream and dark chocolate shavings filled his hands, oversized clothing clad his chubby frame. Mama J, having been given a proper bath and a fluffy throw blanket with pale yellow ducks on it to wrap around her shoulders as she sank her teeth into rare steak and bowl full of icy water. In between eating and drinking, of course, she would nestle up right between Luca and Jerico.  
  
It was a far more pleasant sight, seeing that they were now in a pristine hallway. Perchella had to call in a favor to the Griffin Flight Academy which thankfully had a station just outside of Montgomery to get them here. As amusing as the notion of flying on the back of a massive lion-bird would have undoubtedly been for the boy, these days griffins were more of pilots due to the lack of unoccupied airspace.  
  
A warm, cream color for the walls with mahogany trimming, matching desks and chairs with deep green leather studded in bronze, and a black and white tiled floor. Perchella tended to have a soft jazz on, instrumental of course with a broad, brass Big Band sound that lured more the sense of forgone adventure than work-a-day toil. Stockholm Sweden was indeed a different world, but even more for Whitechapel Lawfirm. Or, that was the cover for Hel's base of operations. Conference rooms, offices, a fully functioning courtroom for the accused and departed, a private study and perhaps most entrancing of all a singular stainless steel door on the main end of the massive building that read in latin _Abandon all hope all ye who enter here_. This was the room of the Fate, and this room was only entered by Perchella and her reapers. Well, reapers only when they were inducted into service.  
  
"Luca Vangurd?" A touch of both Liverpool and Gaelic with just a sprinkling of French alerted the boy, belonging to a lithe man with brown hair parted down the middle in soft waves to his shoulders, thin square glasses that rested on the middle of his slim nose, and a set of light brown eyes with a solid, fiery ring of gold around the outside and clad in suit and tie. He lifted a thin hand, motioning to the courtroom door, "I need you to sign a few things, okay?"  
  
Luca looked to Jerico and Mama J with an unsure furrow to his brow. Jerico gave him a soft nod, helping him with his unease. The boy placed his chocolate on the coffee table, walking behind the sharply dressed man before the door was opened for them. Perchella smiled with her painted lips, brushing striking inky black with leather clad fingers before tucking the strand behind her ear, mindful of her pearls. "Ah Edwin, right on schedule. They're done cleaning his mess of the floor and he's been carted off. All he has to sign are the release forms."  
  
"Of course, my Lady. Will his age be a problem?"  
  
"Life never minded his age, why should I?"  
  
"Fair point."  
  
"I'm um...not gonna die, right?" Luca barely whispered, jumping when Perhcella gave a hearty, aristocratic laugh before gently pinching his cheek.  
  
"Of course not, my dear. It's not your time yet. But I do need you to sign a paper that says we've done everything here by the book. Well, _our_ book. I'll have some cookies made when you're done."  
  
"O-okay, thank you." Luca waved a little to Mama J before walking into the courtroom with Edwin.  
  
A soft click chirped from the bronze knob, and Perchella lounged daintily upon the seat where Luca had sat. "That man pissed all over my good floors. The cowards always do when they're found guilty."  
  
'What will be done for him, ma'am?' Jerico signed just before running his hand along Mama J's shoulders, kneading his fingers into the tense muscle to ease her nerves.  
  
"Well, I've never had a case like this before. Inugami are such a rare natural occurrence that it's difficult for me to make clauses and exceptions for it. I can't separate her from her human, I'm not that cruel mind you, but he cannot go back to where he was." Smoothly, Perchella placed her forefinger upon Mama J's muzzle before raising it with a snap. "We'll be able to hear you for the moment, Mama J."  
  
"Good." A rich yet feminine tone wracked its way into Jerico's brain, the troll was obviously unaccustomed to this particular method of communicating as of yet. Not that he wanted to, it tended to give him the biggest headache.  
  
"If you're able to use glimmer, Ms. J, I should be able to pull some strings to let you have an apartment. If you'd like I could enlist you as a Para recruit, you'll be given a living wage well enough to live off of. Either way, you won't be separated from Luca."  
  
"I'm staying like this."  
  
Jerico held his head, signing out of habit despite the fact he knew she could hear his thoughts just as well as speech, 'Are you unsure of how to use glimmer? There's no need to be embarrassed, Ms. Whitechapel had to activate mine since I was away from the Rhunes for so long.'  
  
"Oh Gods I preferred Ma'am." Perchella sighed dramatically.  
  
"No offense," Mama J sat up, looking directly at Jerico with all the intention and empathy of a human being, or even more so a mother, "But this is how Luca needs me to be. I've lost too many pups. His mother left to that monster to save herself. I took him as mine. He _still_ fears humans. And if being like this is how I can protect him, then so be it."  
  
As Jerico rubbed her chin, Perchella clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth, "...very well. I will house him in my apartment until I feel that he is capable of caring for himself. I suppose I could always train him as a secretary, and in his spare time, Edwin can educate him enough to do so. I won't ask you to become a Reaper, Ms. J. As far as I'm concerned, you've done nothing warranting that punishment."  
  
The door reopened, Luca knelt to Mama J and held her tightly around her thick neck, "Okay, I signed the papers."  
  
"Good. Luca, you'll be staying with me here for the time being. Edwin will take you to the guest room."  
  
"R-really?" Luca smiled a little, standing after using the armrest of Jerico's chair to help himself up. "Thank you, Ms. Whitechapel."  
  
"Please, call me Perchella. Or Hel if it's better."  
  
"Oh um okay Hel."  
  
Her crimson eye looked directly at Jerico with a singular motion of her hand, "Now is that so difficult?"  
  
'No, ma'am.'  
  
Jerico's wry smile made the very vein above her eye twitch. She gave a reluctant sigh, leaning against the chair as Edwin lead him down the narrow hall, towards the spiral staircase near the back end. The troll released a breath, holding his brow before his ear twitched, almost hearing a feral voice call out to him.  
  
"Jerico."  
  
Tilting his head up, slate eyes widened behind thick glasses. Only a few steps behind Edwin and Luca stood a woman, a modest height but held the build of a shrunken amazon. Long, wild white locks streaked with ash gray pouring down to mid back and spiking towards the top with dark skin adorned with patches of milky white, and those glowing crimson eyes. In those blood tinted hues, he knew what she meant to say.  
  
And in that same twinkling of a second, she was once again a pit bull, staring at the troll for a moment longer before sprinting back to Luca's side.  
  
"Jerico? What is it?"  
  
The troll shook his head, smiling at Perchella who looked exhausted after a long day's work. 'Nothing.'


	7. The Puzzle Piece Case pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A unique fighter is being harassed, which causes Jerico to get involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has the derogatory word retard. Personally, despise this word with a burning passion. Just a disclaimer if you're sensitive to the word.

Damn it, not now.  
  
Panting, breath failing to enter his lungs as searing claws gripped the base of his stomach, he could feel it gnaw at his diaphragm in an attempt to writhe up his dry throat and take hold. If he could only get some damned air! A vacant, overtly obnoxious chatter and the overwhelming stench of far too many men who forgot to shower wrapped its thorned tendrils around his senses. He knew it was coming.  
  
Barely able to cherry pick the booming sound of a countdown, Clarence leaped back up to his feet, wobbling from the quickness of it. He paced his end of the blood-stained arena, striking a fist to his chest in a steady base rhythm. Thankfully the faceless shadows watching always took this as either showmanship or a primal overflow of adrenaline that needed release.  
  
It helped siphon off the noise.  
  
"A'ight, boys!" Jeraldine, more brash and stern than any male referee he'd ever encountered, stomped center stage.  
  
He and his opponent returned to center mat. Bobby "Sweet" Ray, a drow from Pitsburg or somewhere. The dark elf smirked as he braced himself, using a classic American boxing stance, a southpaw who always seemed off center in the slightest degree. Couldn't use his scales which shifted eagerly beneath his inked skin, and it was driving Clarence mad.  
  
They couldn't go all in.  
  
Humans were watching.  
  
Dragons were watching.  
  
Shifting his weight to favor his left foot, he took his trademark kickboxing stance. With the building tension, the claws wreaking their havoc on his body, and every single damned chain holding him down it was all he could do not to scream.  
  
"Last round! Sweet versus the Silent Storm! GO!!!"  
  
Jeraldine sprinted away just before Clarence ducked out of sync, having been distracted by the growing noise and static, Sweet's punch clipped his scruffy jaw. He barely managed a solid right kick to the drow's ribs, but he was tough for an elf. Hella tough.  
  
"C'mon!" Sweet bounced, keeping the momentum that his style provided going as he reared his southpaw back. Of all the times they sparred, of all the times he watched Sweet's previous matches, he knew this was his finisher. "Where's the Storm?!"  
  
Time stopped.  
  
Clarence opened a swollen right eye, able to hear his weakened ankles pop from years of added pressure. In the heat of the moment, Sweet left his left side open. _Click_. He parried Sweet's punch, sweeping his ankles and crashing his knee just between the drow's ribs. Amidst a loud, primal grunt Clarence wrapped his legs around Sweet's foundation, flipping them to where the drow was belly down, arms pinned to the mat.  
  
"One!" Jeraldine slapped her palm to the arena floor.  
  
The claws gripped tighter, burning a path up his lungs.  
  
"Two!!"  
  
An urge to ball his fist burned, but he had to wait. He felt those talons rip at his throat. Not now! In the locker room, at home, hell even in the bathroom.  
  
But not here.  
  
Anywhere but here.  
  
"THREE!!!"  
  
Clarence released Sweet, rolling off before pacing at his side briefly. The noise was piercing, hammering between his already raging temples. Thump! Thump! Thump! A stifled grunt fought behind clinched, sharpened teeth but Clarence refused to set it free. He jolted, almost writhing from the touch of Jeraldine's aged hand when she gently motioned to Sweet. Oh damn, he almost forgot again! Kneeling to Sweet, Clarence offered him a now bruising, aching hand. The drow's grip was firm as he was helped up. Feeling words bubbling on his pallet, he allowed them to push through with no thought of tone or context. "G.G."  
  
**Good Game**.  
  
Sweet quirked a brow, giving a hearty chuckle at his Aussie dialect before gripping Clarence's shoulder, "So the Silent Storm finally speaks, huh? Took ya long enough, friend."  
  
Clarence's entire frame stiffened in that instant, rolling the foreign weight off his shoulder while holding his sleeve-covered arm, "...sore, y'know?" He remembered how being uncomfortable with touch could come across as rude to some who didn't know him, sometimes it took a little extra effort for Clarence to keep that in mind. But Sweet was a good fighter, he deserved an explanation even if it wasn't entirely true.  
  
"Oh right I getcha." As the crowd divided up their bets and winnings, Sweet glanced at the now pale combatant, "Hey ya alright, Storm? Ya look shook."  
  
"...need air..." As the cluster of warm shadows hovered annoyingly close to one another, he leaped from the arena, grinding sharpened teeth as he attempted to push himself on through the cluster of voices. But the thought of having unknown hands or bodies near him only made the humidity near physical on his nose and mouth. Why was it always so damned loud and crowded?! The moment Clarence made it to the locker room, a clipped burst broke through his throat. Again, the booming rhythm to his chest in the midst of a heated pace.  
  
This lasted for a long, suffocating moment before he plopped onto the bench, taking deep breaths to wait for the rest of the talons to dislodge themselves from the lining of his stomach. Normally it only took ten minutes, but tonight was especially taxing. He hadn't fought in a 3 tier match in six months, and no matter how long he attempted to prepare he always got overwhelmed. He gripped the collar of his long sleeved shirt that was drenched in sweat, pushing it to and fro to create some form of ventilation. Air finally returned to his lungs, the now icy oxygen nearly made him cough. Once his senses reached a plato, he finally noticed his stomach growling, demanding attention at long last. "Huh...forgot to eat earlier. Maybe K.B.B.Q's open." Clarence rose slowly from the now warmed bench, reaching up to press fingertips gently against the puffed skin against his better judgment. A mild flinch, but the dull surge of pain just reminded him to put it on ice later. Which meant no _League of Legends_ tonight. There went his night. Damn. With a quick motion, he opened his locker and let the dented rusty door swing before he looked up. The overwhelming stench of spraypaint struck him right to his swollen eye, which struggled to stay open. There, in ugly red in a haphazard, almost violent string of what only a drunkard would call letters, the blade of their weight pierced through his scales for all but a moment until heat began to rise in his neck, burning the three scars on its base.  
  
**RETARD.**


	8. The Puzzle Piece Case pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerico finally comes on the scene and befriends Clarence, but the harassment continues in the background.

"You could've used the metro, Jerico."  
  
The troll attempted to talk while avoiding car and passing body, jolting at the pricking feel of ice that began to patter upon steel beam and skyscraper. Something about the complete and total lack of green crawled beneath his skin and lingered. Steel and concrete, stacked atop one another and cast higher than the mountains he was forged in with a lingering smog gravitating overtop the streets. Colder too, a chill bit through his suit coat as a force of wind rivaling the howl of a wolf pressed into his back while launching shards of ice through thick locks and some into his eye. He was in the lower side of town, the underbelly of trendy stores and tourist meccas. Away from brilliant neon signs whose light tended to burn itself into his retinas long after walking away. The troll was completely unfamiliar with this part of town, but it held a gray tinge to it that reminded him of home. Granted without the sprawling mountainside filled with life, adorned in tree and bird and creature. No, it was the humility of it, how it remained relatively quiet as compared to busy intersections and glimmering towers pined wall to wall in glass. Not a lot of frills, just like home. He never particularly cared for large cities or cities in general. Every single time he went to a larger city, the more tourist side at least, it never ceased to disappoint him. The lifeless staring eyes of both para and human, a guaranteed hurried zip of an upper middle class Stepford wife's purse as she clung to her clutch which undoubtedly cost more than most people's wages for dear life, and possibly the worst of it being teenagers of every shade and class, para and human, point at him with an ungraceful whisper of "What the hell IS he?". And since his glimmer worked predominately without fail he knew it wasn't because of his ears and tail to which the humans were blind. All of it wrought his nerves and swoll his tongue. Not to mention whenever he actually attempted to work with others during his internship the same issues as always arose; mainly the backhanded insults when he told them of his heritage. "So you're a hillbilly huh?" "This electricity's something else, huh?" "So do you guys actually fuck your sisters or?" or just blatant insinuations of a predetermined stupidity on his part. The worst of it came when he had to spend the night in a guest room of an associate of Perchella's when working on a case with Alabaster. While Alabaster went about getting dinner for them whereas to not inconvenience the male vampire paler than his white collar he found his portion of the guest room decked out in near tattered, stained quilts and sheets while Alabaster's were more fitting a guest. But the most degrading portion of his trip remained when his host took the time to demonstrate how to use the toilet. Thankfully only with words and mild gestures. Alabaster stepped in during the demonstration, with words far more eloquent than Shakespeare told him to shove it, and after a swift phone call managed to get them into a rather nice hotel.   
  
"I-I l-lik-ke t-to-o w-walk-lk."  
  
"...Jerico, we both know you don't like cities after what happened last time. And I'm sorry that Alabaster can't come with you, but please understand you're the only reaper I can trust with a case like this." Despite the discussion of business, Perchella never failed to hold a warm tone which nursed his nerves, soothing each insecurity with a graceful tinge of earnest. "If anyone can get cooperation out of War Prince Clarence, it's you."  
  
Jerico stepped into a glass shelter within a bus stop to attempt to warm up from the ice shower, almost pressing himself to the glass at the sight of teenagers. Once again he heard a cluster of whispers and giggles, murmurings of what his ethnicity was. And course they were all wrong. How difficult was it for such brazen little creatures to simply ask him if the notion of his race not being clear to them? It wasn't like they'd know nor understand what Melungeonpeople were. Appalachia is, of course, not seen as important enough to teach to anyone much less to the youth. Thankfully they were human, so they couldn't see his tail swaying behind him from building nerves. Their twisted smiles made his thickened tongue immobile for that moment.   
  
"The harassment to Clarence has gotten progressively worse over the past month. His locker has been vandalized several times over, he's received death threats both written and email within the span of two weeks, and as of last night his apartment door was broken down and made with the same derogatory."  
  
Taking a deep breath, Jerico pressed words through his lips, "A...am I-I t-to-o b-be-e a-a b-bod-dy-y gu-gua-ar-rd-d?" His face flushed dark at the sound of bursting laughter at the expense of his deep, slurred stammer. Heat smothered his chest, picking at his ribs while the rain's shrill cold grew worse.   
  
"Yes and no. Clarence can more than fend for himself, but I'm afraid that's the issue here. There is no evidence suggesting this is by a para, and if it were a member of a dragonclan he would have had an assassination attempt. But I doubt they could get close to his level." She clicked her tongue against her teeth, the sound of shifting pages catching Jerico's ears as he attempted to focus more on his boss's languid British dialect than the hideous mocking of the spoiled teenagers, "He tends to keep to himself, but if he is attacked physically he WILL fight back. Para or human, he will kill them as he's been trained to. I cannot allow him to be detained by human police, and if the draconic high council sees that a man of his caste has committed a crime he will be executed. Of course, I think each of those shriveled up old lizards are so far up their own ass-"  
  
"-ma-a'am'm."  
  
A loud burst of frustrated breath rattled her end of the line, "My point is, Jerico, he can't get into trouble with either side. I need you to find out who's been doing this and end it before he does. Did you receive the address to the gym? He's been staying there since his apartment was broken into. Something about there being a loft just above it and the owner being close acquaintances with him."  
  
"Y-yes-s, ma'am-m."  
  
"...Jerico."  
  
"Ma-a'am-m?"  
  
"For the twenty-sixth time, PLEASE for the love of the gods call me Perhcella. Hel. At this point I'd settle for you calling me mom."  
  
"Y-ye-es, ma-a'am-m." Jerico smiled upon hearing Perchella's feral groans of frustration, an almost childish enjoyment at her expense he understood but it never failed to brighten his mood.   
  
"Alright, alright. Report to me when you contact him. The more time you can spend with him, the better."  
  
"Y-yes-s ma'am-m." He hung up, glancing across the mist laden street. There, between an abandoned lawyer's office and a hole in the wall Taiwanese take out restaurant with a line down the sidewalk, lay his mark; Jeraldine's. The gym itself was laid in dark brick, clashing with a shade dried blood that clashed against the differing shades of cinderblock and brick. It had no windows, on the far right of the building rested a pristine white door, untouched by so much as a singular drop of rain.   
  
The para entrance must be in the back.   
  
Jerico glanced back and forth from both sides of the street, bracing himself for a rush of cold from the rain and thunderous wind as he sprinted to the other side. As his heel touched concrete, the sound of a renegade car digging its tires into a massive puddle of water and drenching the hoard of once giggling teenagers. Fog lifted from each crack and crevice of aged concrete, lingering about his ankles and tail as the sounds of unrefined curses and bursts of guileless threats towards an innocent driver made his lengthy ears twitch. Warmth settled in the pit of his now squirming stomach, lofting through the length of his throat before seeping through tusks. The cloud poured within his space, warming his lips and nose for a brief moment as a sigh gravitated on his tongue. Hearing their begrudging curses and knowing they were soaked to the marrow, to most an appropriate balance to the discomfort, only caused a lukewarm pang to rattle his chest. It brought him no gratification, no spark of light at their distress. But he did, however, feed the primal notion of his own mind to look back at them from the upturn of his collar. Rolling his shoulders to loosen his tensing muscles, the troll slid his sturdy frame between the slim space between the two buildings before reaching around to the back. Slate eyes caught sight of what looked like a cellar that dug itself into the concrete, a set of stairs delved downward towards a basement. A steel door with a carved rhune upon its base, Para in Norse letters. With chilled, trembling fingertips he adjusted his glasses, barely able to see thanks almost entirely to the shift between his heated body temperature and each shard of icy rain that pricked the glass. Jerico climbed down the concrete stairs, heat scaled the length of his tense spine, coiling its fiery talons into his jawbone before sinking their tips into his thick tongue. Calloused fingers wrapped around the icy knob, the troll attempted to catch his heavy breath. Shutting his eyes for a brief moment with a tightness that almost hurt, he took a long breath before opening the door. A wave of heat rushed him, thick as a wall with fluorescent lights pierced through the thick, gray of the outside. It was a simple gym, and off aged white from wall to wall with wooden floors cracked and splintered with time, with a singular boxing ring in the middle of the gym with various pieces of older work out equipment. Thankfully it was a slow day, with only a handful of city para. Two minotaur, a few werewolves, much to his surprise a kappa of all things. His eyes widened a small fraction at the sight of two-toned hair, brilliant blond clashing with a more natural shade in waves that smothered his neck. Fair skin and blue eyes with freckles. Clarence Storm.   
  
"You're new here."   
  
Jerico turned, looking down at the origin of the rustic voice. A drow with dark skin, icy pale eyes and hair that was thick and lengthy to mid back, about average height for his species but still far shorter than him.   
  
"Sorry, name's Sweet. Just used to seein' the same guys here." Sweet chuckled in a soft tone and pat Jerico's shoulder, "So you a reporter or something? Ya look like Clark Kent with 'em glasses."  
  
With that, he slipped a hand into his dress slacks pocket and opened his wallet.  
  
At the sight of the rhune, Sweet's demeanor changed entirely into a more formal, slightly stuff air. "Who're you here for?"  
  
Jerico tilted his head towards Clarence, who was shadow boxing at the tempo of a fast paced K-Rock song. He moved fiercely, well practiced in a sort of trace as the blaring music echoed within the ring.   
  
The drow gave the troll a long look, glancing at the ring before returning his pale eyes to Jerico, "If he's in trouble, I'll vouch for him. Clarence's peculiar but he's no-"  
Jerico held up a hand before scribbling into his notebook, showing Sweet his improving writing. 'I'm here for his protection, but I need to speak to him.'  
  
This seemed to appease Sweet, the thick tense energy that cloaked over his lax smile slid from his shoulders in that instant. "He's...different. Storm won't talk to no one unless they fight 'im in the ring. Hell first time he came here he and Jeraldine scrapped and since then he's basically been like one of her kids. He's just now started talking to me and we brawled last month."  
  
His large hand took the worn notebook once more, writing quickly before giving it back to the drow, 'Would he have any enemies? Would anyone have any reason to want to hurt him?'  
  
"I can't imagine anyone would wanna do him wrong. Storm keeps to himself." Sweet raked fingers through his near transluscent hair, letting the strands fray over his features before a thought crossed his brow, "Wait a minute, I might know someone that might give 'im trouble. I don't know his actual name, but his fighting name was Broadside."  
He leaned over and wrote the best he could from his unusual angle his message to Sweet, 'Here is my contact information. If you see Broadside or find out his actual name, please let me know.'  
  
So, he only spoke to those he fought?  
  
Brisk unease lingered in the pit of the troll's stomach. His kind were known as one of the three 'body guard' species for just reason. Beneath his thickened hide, the numb sensation of bone and sinew busting wracked every nerve to spark anew, the primal inherent heat of a challenge clashed with cool docility. He viewed combat as a last resort, reserved for those creatures whom words and compassion were beyond reaching. He knew this was different, that if anything this sparring match would be only sportsmanship fueled by adrenalin that lured even the most gentle-hearted of beings into the center of the ring. But, the ill memory of ribs giving a dull pop or shattering a jawbone before the remains painted stained concrete burned into every single muscle of his taunt, clinched fists. The last thing Jerico ever wanted was to bring pain to those who didn't deserve it.   
"Oh, one more thing Kent." Sweet's open palm on Jerico's back sent a lengthy jolt throughout his body, "Storm always knows when someone's holdin' back. I don't know how, but he does. Hell, he still won't talk to Pat over here. Two years ago all he wanted to do was spar with the guy to get 'im talkin' so he pulled his punches. Storm **STILL** won't look his way."  
  
Damn it. "Th-than-nks-s." There was no way around this, was there? With a dep sigh that lingered in his stomach for a small while, Jerico gravitated ringside. On the bench he placed his dress shoes, folding his coat, vest, and dress shirt neatly atop the aged metal before placing his still condensation heavy glasses on damp fabric. Even with his massive size it was far too easy to climb into the ring. His ears twitched at the rough paced of synthesized guitar and the harsh tones of Korean-English.   
  
He stomped center ring twice.   
  
It was enough to send Clarence's body into a surge, annoyance only amplified by being ripped from his pseudo trance courtesy of beat and throwing off his tempo. However, his reptilian eyes brightened a singular shade upon the sight of his challenger. A troll, but unlike those he'd seen before. Longer tusks, a thicker but shorter tail with no fur, and a darker hide. But what perplexed him most was his stance. A germanic style of boxing, but the way he planted his feet suggested a possible grappling brace.   
This could be fun.  
  
Remembering his etiquette, Clarence met him center ring and extended a fist. To which the troll tapped with a small portion of strength. He squared himself up, his failsafe kickboxing stance. The song's beat stilled as their world fell into silence, the edges of the ring faded into nonexistence. He was unable to meet his combatant in the eyes, as always, but kept his glance center chest to watch for openings. Each small thump of the stilled instrumentals matched the hammering beating within his chest.   
  
Then, a burst of sound.   
  
Clarence closed in, feigning a solid right before attempting to sweep him from the left. Jerico gripped his ankle, slinging him with ease across the arena before he caught himself. As Clarence attempted to steady his stance, a solid left rammed into his jaw with enough force to send a lesser para to the ground. Warm iron slid from between sharpened teeth, lingering on his lower lip as piercing blue armored plates, not unlike scales, rose mid blow on instinct. As he braced himself once more, his lips curled into a wild, feral smile. The two began to circle the ring, Jerico's tail swayed in contemplation as Clarence attempted to read his body's movements. Noting a singular second of hesitation, he rushed the troll by slamming an armored right into his jaw, stepping into his space to pummel into his diaphragm. Left right right left left right. While still flesh, the Storm felt with each punch his opponent's hide grew thicker and more resilient. Almost like hitting concrete but with more elasticity. Jerico twisted himself in the briefest moment, lowering himself and using his tail to catch Clarence off balance before punching between his ribs. He sent a blow straight into his diaphragm, causing the Storm to land straight on his tail bone with a solid, echoing thump. His eyes widened as he beheld his challenger.   
  
Jerico's tance was firm, braced as the very mountains he was forged from while his right arm acted as a shield, levying his left with palm ready and poised to strike.   
Small, suffocated chirps of laughter bubbled from his now aching stomach before Clarence, the Silent Storm, before his voice roared with a laughter that pierced through the thin walls of the gym. It was a peculiar but infectious joy, brushing its welcomed sharpness to Jerico's slowly calming senses and bringing a soft smile to his features. Easing out of his stance, the troll knelt and offered a hand to the bright warrior, who took it but was barely able to stand from laughing.   
  
"Good Game!" Clarence's Aussie dialect kept an uneven volume which came in enthused, excited bursts of loudness that for some would have been abrasive but not to the troll, "Ain' been on my back in forever! Wha's your name, Mate?"  
  
"J-Jer-ri-c-co."  
  
"Jerico, yeah? Cool." He shifted in place, excitement clearly unable to be contained but he attempted to hold in the sensation since it didn't happen often, "Where the hell ya learn Slyphnir? Ain't seen that style in ages!"  
  
Jerico rummaged through his pocket before pulling out his badge, and Clarence's features shifted into an unreadable expression in that instant. Quickened with fear of disappointing his sparring partner, the troll flipped open his small notebook, scribbling into it before handing the message back to him, 'I still enjoyed our fight. You are NOT in trouble, but may we speak in private?'  
  
"Yeah." He motioned to a door on the other end of the gym that lead to a stairwell, "This place's got three floors. Loft's on the third. Need some coffee anyway."  
  
"C-coff-ffee-ee sou-ound-ds g-good-d." Jerico gathered up his things, placing glasses on the bridge of his nose with fingertips still trembling from combat, stepping into his dress shoes before rushing behind Clarence. How odd it seemed that he wore a long sleeved shirt to fight in when most of the others went shirtless. He understood if Clarence was self-conscious after all even he wore a tank top to fight. Although what wracked his elongated ears the most were the cluster of murmurs from all para who's stopped their own training to watch their fight. He felt that familiar heat crawling up his spine, gripping at his jaw and squeezing it shut. So lost in thought was he that the first step nearly undid his balance, the troll had to shake his head as if to clear the ill thoughts of lack thereof from his mind before managing the stairs at a brisk pace. Each patter of their feet echoed, from what the troll could see from how Clarence's brow was furrowed in a tight-knit he was either uncomfortable with his company or the pathway. Either way, he ensured there was a distance of two people between them before they entered the third floor.   
  
It was a loft, a simple room with a small kitchen that melded into lounge room, with a small hallway which housed a modest bathroom. A burgundy long armed sofa with sunk in seats, walls a faded green and carpet that'd seen better days in 1970 to match. On the couch lay a laptop, an HP of bright red with various stickers upon it. Most he recognized, predominately comic book characters such as Spawn and Venom, a few he didn't that mirrored fantasy warriors with overdramatic hair and brightly colored attire he presumed from the other sticker they were from a game called League of Legends. Aside from a few scattered take out boxes and a trash bin filled with cans, it seemed as though he hadn't been here but a few days.   
  
"How you take your coffee?"   
  
Jerico turned, pressing his back to the sofa with a hesitation before adjusting his glasses out of anxiousness. "C-cr-rea-am-m a-and-d s-sug-gar-r."  
  
Clarence nodded, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow with his sleeve before filling the pot with water and changing the filter. Once the coffee was on, a mild churning noise filled the loft as he motioned to the couch, sinking on his side. It took but a moment for Jerico to accept the invitation, pressing himself to the opposite end whereas to not crowd him and keeping his hands politely occupied by his notebook. "Jeraldine called ya, didn't she?"  
  
He reached him the notebook, 'She called my superior, yes.'  
  
"Damn it I told 'er I've got this." An exasperated, heated sigh rushed between clenched teeth while the blond's features began to turn a soft shade of pink. He gripped his collar, much akin to how Jerico once had before to gain some air. "Look, ya didn't have to come here. I can handle this."  
  
Jerico gave him a soft look before writing down another message, 'I understand that. I'm not here to babysit you by any means, Clarence. I'm only here to help where I can.'  
He quirked a brow, rereading it in case of mistranslation before returning the book, "So, you're here t' do what exactly? Your boss didn't tell the Draconic council 'bout me, did he?"  
  
'She.' He wrote, 'And no. She actually made it imperative that the Draconic High Council not know of this. They are not involved in any way.'  
  
"Good." Clarence lounged into the rough fabric of the sofa, keeping oceanic eyes to an off white ceiling as the fan's blades barely moved. "Last thing I want is them harpies on my back."  
  
Jerico thought for a long while, tapping the end of his pen to the spiral notebook's metal before writing another message, placing it upon Clarence's lap. It took him a moment to glance down at it to read, 'If you don't mind my asking why do you not want the Draconic High Council involved? I understand no one finds them pleasant aside from their inner circle, but they are the most influential force among Para. Either way, I'm only here to help where I can. But please help me understand.'  
  
As his slit eyes read the last few words, a shrill digitalized beeping caught his ear. Pulling himself from the couch before walking in languid steps to the cabinet, he found two mugs. Both of which were stained to the brim, dusted and an old shade of yellow a piece before he ran them under some hot water and rinsed them out to pour fresh coffee into them. "Ya don't know much about dragons, do ya?"  
  
"N-no-o." He bit into his lower lip, smothering frustration over how thick his tongue tended to be. But he pushed words on through despite himself, "I-I'm-m n-not-t e-ev-ven-n th-that-t f-fam-mil-lia-ar-r w-with-th m-my o-own-n k-kind-d. I-I'm-m th-the-e la-ast-t o-one-e y-y'see-ee."  
  
"Last of your breed?"  
  
"Y-yes-s." Jerico on instinct signed 'thank you' as Clarence placed the mug in his large hands before taking his own seat, laying a can of dry creamer and packets of Splenda between them due to a lack of coffee table. A loud burst of wind-wracked at the humble brick that held the building in place, not even phasing Clarence as he adjusted his coffee as he liked before taking a long swig. "I-I'm-m a-an-n App-ppa-la-lach-chian-n M-mou-ount-tain-n Tro-oll-ll."  
  
"Appalachia?" The troll's pleased smile meant that he pronounced the place right, much to Clarence's relief. "Where's that?"

  
The troll wrote in his notebook, holding it up for the dragon to read, 'It's a mountain region in the American south. I'm from West Virginia, but it also takes up parts of Kentucky, Virginia, parts of Georgia. Actually, it runs all the way up to Canada.'  
  
"Ah." Another swig before clearing his throat, his eyes returned to the monotone ceiling fan before attempting to ease his breath. "I'm an Unwanted." He glanced over at Jerico, watching his features contort in confusion and his head tilt. "Ya really don't know, do you?"  
  
Jerico shook his head.   
  
"Unwanted ain't liked among Dragons. When a dragon's egg hatches, she looks it over. If somethin's wrong, she takes it to the pier to be killed."  
  
The bluntness of his words wracked at the troll, almost making his tongue reject the coffee he was currently drinking. Holding his coffee between his knees, he wrote another message before reaching the notebook to Clarence, 'By something wrong, what do you mean exactly? A deformity? Gender?'  
  
"Kinda deformities..." Clarence took another long swig of coffee before placing his mug on the floor, wringing his hands while attempting to piece together words. "Sometimes it's physical like being blind or something, but sometimes it's different." Taking a deep breath, a mild buzz rang between his ears. With both hands, he gathered up his wavy, unruly locks and turned his back to the troll, raising his hair far above his neck.   
  
Revealing three deep, searing scars. Caused by the claws of a dragon.   
  
Jerico took the notebook again, writing quickly before handing it back, 'I see. The Unwanted are scarred at birth.'  
  
Clarence nodded, "Yeah. Kinda how they can tell us from other dragons. My birth mother left me on the pier when I was three, took her that long to figure out something was wrong."  
  
'What do you mean?'  
  
"I'm autistic." He stated bluntly, with no sense of preservation or hesitation. "Or I _have_ autism, whatever people say it is they keep changing it every few years. Found out what to call it when I was about twelve."  
  
The troll began to write, selecting his words carefully. It wasn't like he was completely unfamiliar with the subject having come across it in a few books he'd read, but the last thing Jerico ever wanted was to make Clarence uncomfortable in any way. 'Do you know who would have it out for you?'  
  
"Easier t' name who don't, mate." Clarence sighed, "I know Sweet's cool. Pat's kind'f a dick but he's a pushover, can't even cuss y'know? Jeraldine's like an aunt to me, I know it ain't her."  
  
'Does anyone know you have autism?'  
  
"You." Clarence's leg began to bounce in a quick tempo, anxiousness wracked it's searing talons into his nerves again. But, in a strange way, a sense of relief prevented more emotion to boil over. "I told Jeraldine I'm a mite weird, but she said as long as I don't smash some bloke's face in. Outside of League and orderin' food I don't talk to people much."  
  
Hesitation met Jerico's hand as he wrote. He couldn't claim sympathy, no, the mirrored chill of loneliness was too palpable to be such a distant emotion. Empathy would be more close to the mark, being unable to connect with an outside world for a reason you couldn't help. But hesitation only gripped his pen for fear of having his words misconstrued as pity. Clarence was a warrior, a fighter. He thus far had avoided assassination and lived on his own terms.   
  
Pity did not suit him.   
  
Steadying his hand, the troll wrote before passing the notebook over to Clarence, 'Forgive me for asking, but do you ever feel lonely? Not having many people to speak to, I mean.'  
  
"Well...yeah." He raved fingers through dampened waves of shades of blond, turning his head to avoid looking at the troll. "...talkin' to people online's alright, but I'm trying to not harve up all th' time. I wanna have people to hang out with. They don't want shit to do with me, never have, but..."  
  
"Y-you-ou sti-till-ll t-try-y t-to r-rea-ach-ch o-ou-t-t." Jerico's deep tone crossed the space between them, "I-I u-und-derst-stand-d th-that-t m-much-ch."  
  
"So what happens now?" The dragon allowed his eyes to glance over at Jerico, nowhere near the face and especially avoiding his eyes but at the very least towards him. "You gonna investigate or-" A loud bang made Jerico and Clarence stand up. The dragon crooned his body over the couch, grasping a baseball bat that lay just beneath their feet all the while. Jerico quirked a brow at Clarence, making him puff out his cheeks, "What?! I can't own a damn gun."  
  
"Wh-why-y n-not-t? Th-the-e a-aut-tis-sm-m th-thin-ng-g?"  
  
"No dumbass, I'm not exactly a legal here. If the humans know I'm here without a visa or somethin' my happy ass's shipped back to Australia."  
  
"A-ar-ren-nt-t y-you-ou s-seek-kin-ng a-asy-ylum-m?" The troll took a moment to absorb his own words before roughly smacking his brow, "I-I'm-m a-an-n i-idi-iot-t."  
The door flung open, Jerico and Clarence braced themselves before being met with Jeraldine before easing.   
  
"Somethin' wrong, Jeraldine?"  
  
"I-Is-s e-ev-very-ryth-thing-g o-ok-kay-y?"  
  
"Yeah," Jeraldine released a loud sigh, "Someone tried to pick a fight with Sweet outside but he laid their ass out."   
  
"Wh-where-re d-did-d h-he-e g-go-o, ma'am-m?"  
  
"Dunno, Sweet rammed him to the wall and he ran off." She rolled her shoulders, looking Jerico up and down before motioning to Clarence, "He the detective?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You can stay here if you want until the investigation's over. Only hotel close enough to here's a shabby dump. Believe me, you don't wanna have anything to do with that place."  
  
"Wh-why-y?"  
  
"Drive-by shootings and bed bugs."  
  
Jerico paled, writing in his notebook before reaching it to Clarence, 'Is she talking about the 7 Motel?'  
  
"Yeah. Next hotel's in the nicer part of town about thirty minutes away."  
  
"I-I h-ha-ave-ve st-stu-uff-ff th-ther-re-re."  
  
"Go get it, I'll pull out the air mattress. Clarence, you go with him to get his stuff, poor thing doesn't know this place."  
  
"Yeah."   
  
As Clarence went to the closet to find a pair of sneakers, Jeraldine slid an envelope held together with duct tape before signing to him, 'You understand sign language?'  
  
'Yes, ma'am.'   
  
'It's another death threat to Clarence. Keep this away from him.'   
  
Jerico slid the note into his vest while Clarence brushed past him to slide into a pair of jogging pants. 'Do you know who could have sent it?'  
  
'Clarence's kicked a few asses since he's come here, but I know Sweet's told you about Broadside. I'll send you information on him when you get back.'  
  
'Thank you, ma'am.'  
  
"A'ight, mate, I'm ready." Clarence tossed a black coat on, untucking the hood before motioning for Jerico, "Walk or bus?"  
  
"W-wal-lk-k." Jerico zipped up his coat, hiding the envelope in his vest before following behind him. 


	9. The Puzzle Piece Case pt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jerico begins to make a new friend, the pieces start to come into play. But Clarence has a few memories of his own.

"So if you're a Reaper why the hell didja end up getting a room at 7 Motel?" A thick dark film overtook the now chilled loft as Clarence swung open the door, tossing Jerico's suitcase upon the couch's far side. Thankfully the rain had subsided halfway down the road, long enough to get his things from the roach-infested gray tinted mess of a room and leave. "Damn it the heat's messed up again. 'Merica's too cold."  
  
As he tinkered with the thermostat which hung in the hall just before the bathroom, Jerico rubbed the base of his thick neck before stepping out of his dress shoes, "L-las-st-t m-min-nute-te." Although the bitter taste of enduring snickers from over pampered well to do human and para still lingered on his pallet, almost as wormwood to his memory. Not to mention the constant fear of breaking things, ruining the fabric, drowning insecurity when attempting to call room service and being mistaken for a pranking guest instead of just wanting food. He unlatched his suitcase, laying his laptop aside with its charger before plugging in the dying cellphone.   
  
"Oh alright. Well, you hungry? There's a mini fridge but I keep pop and creamer in there. Town's got about every kinda food you could want except for Aussie stuff. Hell, they've got that weird vegan tofu junk."  
  
"I-I'm-m n-not-t p-pick-cky-y."   
  
"I've got a few places on speed dial for take-out, there's a k.b.b.q place about twenty minutes from here but it's a sit down joint."  
  
Jerico tilted his head, twitching his ears.   
  
Clarence blinked, dumbfounded by the troll's confused expression, "You've never had it?"  
  
"N-no-not-t ex-xac-ct-tl-ly-y. Wh-what-t i-is-s i-it-t?"  
  
"Korean barbecue. Ya get as much meat as you want and sides. Mostly rice and vegetables, but they've got squid too. How long're you in for?"  
  
"U-un-nt-til-l I-I f-fin-nd-d-"  
  
"-this's gonna be a long few days." He sighed before plucking Jerico's cell phone, pressing a few buttons before handing it back, "There ya got my number. Now you can text me and tell me what ya need. Jeraldine knows how t' sign but all I know's how to say thanks and fuck you."  
  
He snickered a little since the two signs mirrored one another almost ironically. Thus far his phone now had a grand total of four contacts, a small tinge of pride warmed his chilled skin.   
  
"So what were you saying a minute ago?"  
  
In a moment Jerico typed out his message, 'I'm here until we find the person who's been harassing you. Depending on how frequent he is and how soon I can gather information it may take a day to a week. These cases don't last too long.'  
  
"Why can't ya just ask your boss? Doesn't she like rule over death or something?'  
  
'Somewhat. She's mainly a sort of defense attorney for the dead but she doesn't decide who ends up where they kinda do that themselves by how they live. Ms. Whitechapel has an associate who tells her where a Reaper is needed to keep balance, but we don't always get all the details at once. From what I understand her associate knows about everything but it all comes at once so it's difficult to get all the intelligence for a single case at one time.'  
  
After reading, the dragon gave a mild shrug in a silent 'fair enough' motion. "So you're hanging out with me until this mystery guy shows?"  
  
'More or less. I promise to not interfere with whatever system or schedule you have and I will need to work on finding out who's been doing this.'  
  
"My schedule's already all kinds of fucked up since the last thing." A lofty sigh burst through his lithe yet sturdy frame as he scrolled through his own cell phone, leaning against the aged sink for balance. "But I've been making it. I don't do very much outside of fights and stuff. Well, sometimes I go into town but mainly with Jeraldine. She's been busy lately though."  
  
'Oh. Do you make a steady income off of your fights?'  
  
"I make spending money. Tea or soda?"  
  
"T-te-ea-a, pl-pleas-se."   
  
"Gotcha." After bending into the small fridge, a chilled bottle of Brisk launched itself towards the troll, his large hands barely able to capture the projectile before opening it and taking a drink. "I sell shit otherwise."  
  
Wiping off the condensation from his fingers, Jerico typed another message, 'What do you sell?'  
  
"Hang on." Placing his can on his side of the sofa, Clarence walked into the bathroom. Plastic and glass chimed against one another before a door in desperate need of WD-40 creaked loudly before he returned, placing a worn out shoe box in Jerico's lap atop his computer. "These."  
  
Laying his now closed bottle on the floor, Jerico lifted the lid only to be met with a brilliant glimmer. His mouth hung open for a brief moment at the sight of so many different kinds of jewels and gems. Pearls predominately, natural pearls with a soft pink or gold sheen to them. A few amethyst, tanzanite, and various types of opal. "Th-the-ey're-re b-bea-eau-uti-ifu-ul-l."  
  
"I kinda had a habit of collecting them when I was little, but when I got kicked outta the Reef I started selling them to live off of for a bit. As long as I'm careful who I sell 'em to, it does me for a while."  
  
Jerico texted Clarence with one hand as the other steadied the box, 'You have enough in here to get your own house wherever you want. Why still fight?'  
  
A half shrug rolled off his shoulder before the dragon ran his hand through the various gems, feeling each different texture with a worked palm before pulling his hand out. Words mangled between his temples, lingering on his tongue before he attempted to speak them in hopes the troll would understand, "...when I fight...I'm not an Unwanted. I'm not just some charity case people can look at and feel better about themselves. When I fight...I'm just Clarence. _That's all I am_."  
  
Weight from his deepened words struck Jerico between the shoulders, lobbying their presence on his very bones for a while. 'If it means anything, you're just Clarence to me.'  
The dragon ran fingers through his wavy, wild hair as a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Slit eyes cast aside as he placed the lid back upon the gems, carrying the shoebox back into the bathroom. The ill lukewarm worry began to grip the troll, but just before his fingers could elaborate his previous message he felt the soft weight of a hoodie smother his face. "It should fit ya. Some minotaur left it here a few weeks back and it swallows me. C'mon."  
  
"Wh-what-t?"  
  
"You got any clothes that ain't business-y?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Hurry up and change, the k.b.b.q place closes at nine."

* * * *

 _"Clarence."_  
  
 _Her voice was soothing, as a bell which chimed with the soft, muted rocking of waves just outside the palace doors. Silver and gray tendrils frayed over full features, her eyes such a distinct shade of sterling that he was able to brave the talons that threatened his throat to look at their shade. Brilliant orange and pink coral draped around him, coiling just overhead as the lounge chair's base while his head rested upon the cushions. It was a distant pain that wracked his fists, more than memory which housed dried blood and scuffed scale. It always terrified Hime that he could look upon his own blood, each scar and scab without the slightest inkling of panic or fear. It wasn't as though he couldn't feel the impact, how the metal of practice blades clashed into unrefined scales or how his muscles ached from being worked to the brink of ripping in twine. No, it wasn't as though pain didn't register to him but more as though his threshold for it was murky at best. Despite this, her soft smile calmed him quicker than any lullaby ever sung, how her fingertips brushed lengthy bangs from his features soothed away any threat of searing nerve. The dragon attempted to voice her name, but even with all his breath and effort, no sound came. 'Mum' he attempted, each time his heart wracked into his ribs from the absence of sound, 'MUM!' She only still smiled, a twist of the lips which whispered in sadness. She was always sad it seemed, even he knew she was. He and Hime always attempted to pierce the thickened veil around her, and yes at times they earned a single shard of genuine light, but no matter what her sadness remained._  
  
 _"You are okay, my son. I'll always be here."_  
  
 _His eyes widened as her fingertips grasped the pearlescent shell bound in pearl and diamond string around her slightly thick neck, a deft click opened it. Blurred light poured from its inside, swirling in indistinguishable shapes as her voice warped in and out of distortion._   
  
_"Clarence, you need to wake up."_  
  
But I don't want to.  
  
 _"Please, wake up."_  
  
Not yet!  
  
This was what his final scream always was before his eyelids disobeyed him, ripped open and greeted with the dim light of an early afternoon of far too much sleep. Gasping for breath as he rose from the sofa, rubbing the breached semi gills that flared out from the intensity of memory and receding back into his more human features. It took a moment for his mind to process the sharp shift, from the oceanic palace draped in pretentious finery to a humble apartment decked out in poster and trading cards and even farther still into that of the loft where he now resides. An overwhelming shift that throbbed between his temples, nearly bursting free of his skull but his palms kept them contained. Pressure built, weaving between rib and vein as he began to press his brow to his knees. A snort brought a jolt to his form, blurred eyes glanced just below his perch to see the troll sprawled out lazily in slumber while his maw hung open. Normally the silliness of it would bring a laugh out of him, the notion of a giant whose legs from the knee down flung over the air mattress' edges was a peculiarity even to him. He climbed over the back end of the couch, landing with all the softness of a cat before rummaging through his duffle bag for athletic tape and doing the work of preparing his now aching knuckles before grabbing his iPod and closing the door softly behind him. He made his way down the staircase, scales quivering just beneath the skin from a still yet unfamiliar wave of cold which pricked and weaved itself throughout his nerves. Never could get used to the temperature change here. With tense shoulders, Clarence weaved through various styles of punching bag, each for a specific para and their needs. Elves' bags were too soft, he'd accidentally shred through a few in the beginning. Last thing he wanted was to pay her back for another specialized punching bad. It took forever to special order. Minotaur was close enough to his taste, but the leather substitute always smelled horrible even hours after scrubbing. In the farthest part of the gym was his main bag labeled DRAGON. Although specifically crafted dragon items were much rougher on his scales due to their flexibility and softness courtesy of his fae side. Even now that bastard Aegir was making things difficult for him, biological father or not. Slipping earbuds in before bracing himself, Clarence braced himself as he practiced without fail every single day since his earliest memory. While the mild annoyance of 10:00 AM sunlight cast its cheerful rays upon slowly shifting scales as opposed to his preferred soft dawn of 8:30, it had to do for now. A quick scroll through his playlist, waiting a moment for the guitars to rev up before beginning.   
  
Right left, left right right left. Kick.   
  
As the thumping baseline of a long forgotten 80's metal classic pulsed between his ears, the dragon slipped into that familiar headspace absent of time, absent of noise save for that which he allowed into his world, absent of overstimulation.   
  
Absent of memory.  
  
Ears twitching from the rhythmic dull thumping that bounced off through the stairwell all the way from the third floor to rattle the door of the loft, Jerico slowly shifted his weight off the plastic air. He had to pop his back, those things never were made for creatures his size but the troll wasn't so abrasive as to complain seeing as how generous his host had been to him. He knew it could only be him and Clarence here, thanks to what Jeraldine had told him of her routine. Feverant about having a schedule, she locked up every door before leaving at 10 PM except for on Sundays at 7, the human entrance had a high tech security system that would spark if one were to so much as press the handle of the door too hard. The Para entrance was different, only assessable to Para due to the Rhune but still baring the security device although more for intimidation and noise rather than actual protection. She didn't come and open the doors until 11:30 so it could only be them.   
  
Reaching over to slip a hand between the folds of his vest, the troll pulled a tattered envelope easily able to rip the upper slack whereas to not damage the ugliness of its contents. He'd taken a black light to it just before bed, and of course, whoever this was owned a pair of latex gloves and watched one too many crime dramas. It wasn't as though he had access to a complete forensics lab, secrecy of the existance of Para came at a cost one of which was having all the furnishings of every other law organization. Even Hel had her limits financially. As he allowed his laptop to load, the troll unfolded the patchwork lettered scrap of typing paper, each letter clumsily stuck onto it with glue that had yet to fully set.   
  
'I know what you are. You shouldn't be allowed to breathe. I'm going to bash your head in like you should've had when you were born. You freaks don't deserve to live. You're dead, RETA-'  
  
Before the word was read between his now feverously twitching ears, Jerico slapped the paper into the carpet and ground his teeth. He had to wipe his hands onto the warm, soft comforter as if to rid himself of the filth. Shaking his head to loosen the coil of anger, he logged into his email and messaged Edwin the list of possible suspects and his request for aliases. Ad within minutes he recieved a reply.   
  
Robert Blare, Jeremiah Jones, Maverick Lewis, and Bryan Sawyer.  
  
Dice, Wrecking Ball, Broadside, and Venom.   
  
He opened the link to Lewis's file, taking a moment to read through it. 6 foot 180 pounds, caucasian and from a lower middle-class family that suffered mildly from the hiccup of the economy in recent years, a recent graduate of high school and a community college drop out. Went to underground fighting when he was rejected for a football scholarship, no surprise given the winning combination of his staggering detentions and his solid C- average. A more recent report was of aggravated assault to an officer while intoxicated, which lead to him spending months on probation and by Jeraldine's rules unable to fight for a solid month. Currently living with his girlfriend and her daughter. Moderate motivation thanks to his disposition, and the timeframe matched up closely, he moved Lewis to the top of his list. Dice fought him far before the incidents even began and were currently living in California after joining the military. Wrecking ball was recovering from a horrific crash and was in a medical coma. Venom had somewhat dull record. Born into an upper-middle-class family, was a wrestling champion in Middle School, High School, and all throughout University before starting to fight apparently as a hobby. Either that or to prove his superiority. His only demerit was a singular account of aggressive bullying when he was in Middle School, but apparently, mommy and daddy were able to pay to keep the parents of the child and the school board quiet. Lewis and Cambell lived about ten minutes apart, not too difficult to track down. Screenshotting the addresses and sending them to his phone, Jerico took a clearing breath before typing into his web browser.  
  
'What is Autism?'  
  
Within moments, Google provided an answer: A mental condition, present from early childhood, characterized by difficulty in communicating and forming relationships with other people and in using language and abstract concepts.  
  
Thankfully there were a plethora of reliable sources that expanded upon this and the results of which the troll read and reread to ensure every word was memorized. Perhaps what fascinated him most as he read on was the diversity of it, how no two people on the Spectrum were the same. The disorder ranged from nonverbal to verbal, Aspergers to Savant, every single individual had a compeltely different set of needs, limitations, and talents.   
  
'When I fight, I'm not an Unwanted. I'm _just_ **CLARENCE**.'  
  
Jerico scrolled down the page, ears pricked to attention when Clarence stepped back into the loft, his lean yet muscular physique highlighted by his dampened work out shirt as usual long sleeved. The dragon undid his athletic tape having long since plucked his earbuds from their perch, crooning his head to see Jerico kindly smiling and his hair hilariously frayed. "Sleep well, mate?"  
  
"A-as-s w-we-ell-ll a-as I-I c-ca-an-n. Th-the-ank-nks-s."  
  
He began to run some water, splashing some on his now pink features before shaking his curls, "Whatcha lookin' up?"  
  
The troll leaned over, texting into his phone before sending it. 'Just some information on the case. Would you happen to be busy today?'  
  
"Nah, nothin' planned. Normally Jeraldine takes me out every other week but since this's been going on it's not happened in a while."  
  
'Would you want to go with me? I'll have to be near you anyway.'  
  
"Sure, why not. But we're stopping by the dog park."  
  
'Okay, I don't mind that. Is there anywhere in town I can get a good chocolate milkshake? I don't like the fast food kind they're always too thin.'  
  
"We've gotta nifty diner close by. Gotta thing called a chocolate cake shake."  
  
Jerico tilted his head, 'Chocolate Cake flavored shake?'  
  
"No no, mate. Like they put a piece'a cake IN the chocolate milkshake and blend'er up."  
  
He brightened instantly, 'I want one of THOSE.'  
  
"A'ight gotta shower though." He began to move towards the bathroom before stopping, "I use up hot water."  
  
"M-may-ybe-be I-I sh-shoul-ould-d g-go fi-fir-rst-t."  
  
"Have a't. Oh Left's hot and Right's cold. The dail's all kindsa busted."  
  
"O-ok-kay-y th-thank-nks-s." After gathering a fresh set of dressy clothes, since after all, he was working, the troll made his way into the bathroom.   
  
Clarence fished out his wallet from between the seat cushions, thumbing through the bills and murmuring his count before hearing a loud THUMP. "You alright, mate?"  
  
"F-for-rg-got-t t-to d-duck-ck!"  
  
"Ya need'a band-aid?"  
  
"I-I'm-m o-okay-y...o-ow-www."


	10. The Missing Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not so much of a chapter as much as artwork for Clarence.


	11. The Puzzle Piece Case Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerico and Clarence begin to investigate possible suspects.

"Ya boys need to go to ninth street, yeah?"  
  
Clarence tensed the moment he filed into the back of the Uber, wringing clinched fists atop his knees as Jerico buckled himself in. It wasn't as though he was unfamiliar with using public transportation, but the prospect of forced interaction never failed to rally the searing talons which always lay pressed to his diaphragm, waiting for an opportunity to wrack his senses. Thankfully the troll's presence alone was enough to sate the discomfort off for the moment, not that he wanted to allow his Aussie tongue to form words. At least with restaurants, there wasn't this overbearing rush of rudeness if his response wasn't pleasing to them. A polite smile didn't bother looking him in the eyes, offerings of coffee and extra time so he could fully decide on what he wanted. Hell some even called him 'sweetie' in a tone that paled in comparison to the faintest memory of Vira but such a bell chord it soothed him all the same. He flipped open his phone, scrolling through settings and gave a slight grunt when the realization of the lack of wifi was present. Jerico released a slow breath as he rummaged through his satchel, paling at the realization that he'd forgotten his notebook.   
  
"You boys gonna answer me or not? I got five rides to do today, I don't need no-"  
  
"-y-yes-s, n-nin-nth-th st-tree-eet-t." The troll's deep tenor rushed past tusky teeth in a near jumble, anxiousness knotted within his throat with a heat that nearly melted through the skin. His ears lowered at the pursed, disgusted expression that the man's furrowed brow bore.  
  
"You a broken record or something, guy?"  
  
"N...n-no..."  
  
The dragon grit his sharpened teeth as the driver began to pull into fog heavy streets, the thickness of it laid as a blanket atop concrete and gravel and nearly parting while they drove through it. He texted Jerico while reclining in his seat, 'The hell is HIS problem?'  
  
'It isn't strange for me to get comments like that. It's no big deal, we should be there in about fifteen minutes.'  
  
'I could shove my boot up his ass. Would that help?'  
  
The troll laughed with a light nervousness before texting again, 'No, that's not necessary.' And it was a long, tense fifteen minutes with high strung silence and the occasional glance via rearview mirror. Thankfully this gave time for Jerico to pull out his book, flipping through the pages and finding where he'd left off. "He was still leaning against the wall. He had been leaning against the wall when I came into the room, his arms down and across his chest. As I pointed he brought his arms down and pressed the palms of his hands against the wall. They were white hands, sickly white hands that had never seen the sun, so white they stood out garishly against the dull cream wall in the dim light of Jem's room...His face was as white as his hands, but for a shadow on his jutting chin. His cheeks were thin to hollowness; his mouth was wide; there were shallow, almost delicate indentations at his temples, and his gray eyes were so colorless I thought he was blind....as I gazed at him in wonder the tension slowly drained from his face. His lips parted into a timid smile, and our neighbor's image blurred with my sudden tears-'  
  
"We're here, boys." The brutish, blunt voice ripped Jerico from the pages, folding his book back into itself and sliding it with great care back into his bag. He murmured a thank you before stepping out while Clarence followed suit.   
  
Just before closing the door, with his back turned the interior allowed a rough breath to leave his throat, "Jackass." He shut the door in a sharp motion, not even bothering to look behind him when the black van pulled back into traffic. He rummaged in his jacket pocket, pulling a pair of aviator sunglass and sliding them on his features with a huff, "Fuckin' wanker. Had no right to treat you that way."  
  
"I-I'm-m s-su-ure-re h-he did-dn't-t m-mean-n an-ny-y h-har-rm-m b-by i-it-"  
  
"That don't excuse him talkin' to ya like that, mate. Tossers like that just piss me right off." Agitation leaked as fumes from clenched teeth, lingering as smog about slightly cracked lips.   
  
Jerico lightly waved his hands in a 'calm down' motion, which seemed to ease the tension in Clarence's shoulders, "D-don't-t w-worry-y, i-it's b-bett-tter-r th-than-n wh-what-t h-happen-ned-d l-las-st-t t-time-me I-I w-was-s h-here-re."  
  
He quirked a brow, planting calloused hands on square hips, "What happened last time?"  
  
The troll rubbed his thick neck, letting warmth settle on his chilled palm, "I-I d-don-n't-t l-lik-ke t-talk-lkin-ng a-b-bout-t i-it."  
  
"Well, I sure as hell ain't going to take that Uber again."  
  
"M-may-ybe-be th-the m-met-tro-ro m-might-ght b-be-e a-a b-bett-tter-r ch-choi-oice-ce?"  
  
"...I guess so, as long as I can get wifi I'm good."  
  
He nodded, flipping through his phone to find the first address. Thankfully it was correct, Broadside's residence. Jerico stepped into the lobby, feeling Clarence slip in behind before taking a slow breath, "R-room-m s-sev-ven-n B-B."  
  
"Third floor." The dragon's quick voice turned Jerico's eyes his way, "We're lookin' for Broadside, yeah?"  
  
"Y-yes-s-s." He texted Clarence as the sight of a group of college boys passed them by, 'I need to ask him a few questions. Would you prefer me to keep matters as private as possible?  
'  
"Yeah, please." Running fingers through wavy locks before looking about, the dragon motioned down a small space, "Elevator's this way, mate. Trust me, ya don't wanna take the stairs."  
  
"Wh-why-y?"  
  
"Smells like moldy socks."  
  
Jerico nodded, turning the corner down the base floor of the hall. Clarence pressed the up button, waiting for the doors to open before hearing his cell phone chirp. 'You've been here before?'  
  
"Yeah." As the doors opened, Clarence sought the main back, wrapping his fingers around the bar. The elevator itself seemed to match the place; mid 80's semi chrome interior with vintage 70's buttons that were so worn only an expert eye could make out their numbers. "Jeraldine does wellness checks for guys with demerits. Took me with her on our out days."  
  
He rested his shoulder on the right wall, typing into his phone to distract himself from the static-laden music that was so warped and distorted it was almost haunting, 'Have you ever had an issue out of Broadside?'  
  
The dragon quirked a furry brow, "Issue?"  
  
'Problems. Has he ever acted overly aggressive towards you? Made you feel uncomfortable?' Jerico jolted with an idea before texting again, 'Like how that Uber driver made me feel.'  
  
A soft 'Oh' left his cracked lips as the elevator slowly moved up, "Nah, not outright. Don't get me wrong, the guy's a prick. But he's that way to everyone. Used to be that way with Jeraldine before she laid his ass out." Clarence drummed his fingertips on the bar as a sharp bing halted the elevator. Allowing the troll to leave first, he stepped over an awkward stain in the middle of the floor.   
  
'Was he a sore loser?'   
  
"Better question'd be who isn't?" The dragon rolled his shoulders, attempting to crack his knuckles to ease the tension that came from the thick stench of soured socks and a dull thumping of modern rap whose lyrics were devoid of all weight. "Most of them are in it for the prize money and get super pissed off when they don't win every time. I'm just in it for the sport but money's nice."  
  
As they walked down the poorly lit hall, fluorescent lights flickered with a harshness that threatened to pierce Jerico's glasses. 'How much does a winner earn per fight?'  
"Pends on their rank."  
  
Right, Jeraldine explained her ranking system to him very briefly over an email. It normally took six months for a fighter to go from Newbie to Upper tier unless they earned demerits. 'What would an upper tier win?'  
  
"700-1000 a night depending on the turnout. The prize money's bet based I think."   
  
'You're upper tier?'  
  
Clarence nodded as they neared the end of the hall, "Yeah, took me a year."  
  
'Why so long?'  
  
"Too many demerits." Before Jerico could text, Clarence pinched the bridge of his nose as a wave of loud, shattering music rustled his ear drums, "I sent too many of 'em to the hospital. Jeraldine had to tell me to hold back, especially with humans. I got a mite pissed off, but she explained it to me and I got it."  
The troll stopped just before the door, giving a solid three knocks to the aged wood. He glanced back to see Clarence stiff-shouldered, looking to the side just beneath tinted glass as a loud creak caught his ear.  
  
"Yeah?" Broadside was just as Jerico envisioned. Slack-jawed, buzz cut, solid muscular top with unimpressive legs, an irate voice that dripped with Chicago personality strung so tight a suggestion would rupture it into a feral growl. However, what caught his eye was how his right arm was in a sling and his left eye was black as pitch. Broadside nodded to Clarence, "Sup, Storm? Your friend a Newbie or somethin'?"  
  
Wasting no time, the troll pulled out his wallet before showing him his badge.   
  
He immediately tensed, pressing the door tighter still, "I aint' done nothing, man. I've been good on my probation."  
  
"I-I a-am-m d-doing-g an-n inv-ves-stig-gat-"  
  
"The hell is wrong with you?" Broadside's harsh tongue pierced through Jerico's thick hide, sinking its infection straight through his jawbone, "You got a condition or something?"  
  
"He's gotta stutter ya jackass." Clarence all but growled, glaring through his sunglasses in fierce sapphire, "Ya can't read for shit, who are you t' talk?!"  
  
"Hey calm the hell down, alright?" He puffed out his chest, gripping the threshold of the door with fingers bearing dried glue.   
  
"Stop bein' a prick for a minute and I will."  
  
Jerico sighed, motioning for Clarence to calm down to which the dragon reluctantly did. "C-can-n y-you-ou s-sign-n?"  
  
"Do I look like I can?"  
  
"Y-you-ou'd-d b-be su-surp-prised-d." The tiniest inkling of annoyance leaked through a normally kind tongue, "C-can-n y-you-u?"  
  
"...no."  
  
"O-okay-y then-n." Best not to bother attempting to text him either. "As-s I-I w-was-s s-say-ying-g, I-I'm-m d-doin-ng a-an in-nves-sti-"  
  
Broadside growled in annoyance, "There's gotta be an easier way to do this. Don't they send you guys out in pairs or something?"  
  
Jerico sighed heavily, feeling his jaw tick before texting to Clarence, 'If I message you, may you tell him what I say? I'm afraid this will be a long day if I don't do it this way.'  
  
Clarence gave him a nod. After a few minutes, he received his first message, "Alright he says he's doing an investigation on various accounts of death threats directed at Jeraldine's fighters."  
  
That seemed to perk his interest, "What kind of threats? Yeah, I've gotten my ass handed to me by that old hag but she's good people."  
  
Jerico texted again, sending the message to Clarence for him to read aloud, "The threats pertained to each fighter's personal lives. Clarence-I mean MY apartment was broken into the other day."  
  
"I still don't see how this is my problem." Broadside lifted his slung arm, "I've not fought in a month."  
  
Before Jerico could reply, a burst rushed through the dragon, "They threatened my little brother, Broadside." The troll's eyes widened at Clarence's convincing tone, "That bastard's been doing this's been calling him a retard."  
  
An aura of almost softness overcame Broadside. He glanced up and down the hall before opening the door, "Come on in."  
  
Jerico stepped inside, jumping at the squeaking sound of a Winney the Pooh toy that laid partially chewed on the floor. As the rest of the complex, it was dimly lit, new hardwood floors clashed with mid-eighties wallpaper that was peeling slightly. Finger paintings were stuck with oversized childhood magnets, and a schedule labeled out in pictures laid on the counter top. Jerico flipped through it with a mild curiosity, texting Clarence.  
  
"What's your brother got?" Broadside stepped into the kitchen that led into the living room, rummaging through the fridge, "Ya want something to drink? Used to have beer but my old lady made me throw that out."  
  
"Nah I'm good."  
  
"N-no-o th-thank-nk y-you-ou." Jerico pointed to his phone near Clarence's direction.   
  
"Oh right." He scrolled through his messages. "He's asking about the schedule on the counter."  
  
Broadisde opened the jug of milk, taking a long chug before putting it back in, "Yeah, looks like shit I know but the therapist says it's supposed to help my kid with routine."  
  
"Wh-why-y w-would-d sh-she n-need-d th-that-t?" The troll flipped another page, noticing the glue had yet to fully set and the pictures were clumsily cut from various magazines.   
  
"She's Autistic." A slow sigh rendered from Broadside's lips, oblivious to the slight jerk of hesitation that met Clarence's wondering fingertips on the various drawings, paintings, and photographs on the fridge. Most of them were simplistic, large heads and square bodies with large scribbles of color for eyes. Every single one had what he could only assume was a black dog which always bore a bright red vest.   
  
"H-how-w l-long-g h-have-ve y-you-ou a-and-d y-your-our g-girl-lfr-riend-d l-lived-d t-t'g-geth-ther-r?"  
  
"A while now." Broadside closed the fridge behind him before attempting to lean against the countertop. Pained bone and muscle sparked from his mistake, and he settled on reclining against the back wall with a cold drink in his uninjured hand, "Sure she isn't mine by blood, but...she's mine, y'know? She doesn't talk much but she's a sweetheart. I wanna take care of her the best I can."  
  
The troll thumbed through the schedule, noting how each timed event bore a clumsily cut out picture that corresponded to the day. "Sh-she-e h-has-s a-a s-serv-vice-ce d-dog-g?"  
  
"Yeah. Therapist says it helps with the whole social interaction thing. She's been opening up a little bit more, but she's ten now and doesn't speak but a few words. I don't know what kind of life she's gonna live-"  
  
"She take these?" Clarence's tone rung through the tense, lingering air in the dimly lit room, heightening with each mechanized chime of the ceiling fan that failed to circulate any amount of air much less remedy the humidity. He plucked a polaroid from a Winney the Pooh magnet, tilting it to see the scene better. A black dog, her service animal he knew from the bright vest on his back, laying on the stained plaid cough while laying on its back with its front paws straight in the air. Given the poor lighting in the room, from the angle, one could tell almost every detail of the animal's strange yet happy position of comfort. "I like this one best."  
  
"Got her an old polaroid camera for Christmas. Was expensive as all hell but she likes it. Takes pictures of everything with that-"  
  
"-she's got a good eye." The dragon pinned it back onto the fridge, "Your cell phone still work?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Clarence texted Jerico, to which the troll scanned through his message and nodded. Within a moment, Jerico made his way over to Broadside, "M-may-y I-I s-see-ee y-your-r ph-phone-e?"  
  
"...uh...sure."   
  
He followed the instructions from the link Clarence sent, the dragon currently was tilting his frame more towards the door as if to make himself less visible. "Th-there-re. I-it-t's a-an-n a-app th-that-t sh-should-d h-hel-lp y-you-ou comm-mmuni-ica-ate-te wi-with h-her-r."  
  
Broadside looked at his phone, "It's just a buncha emojii lookin' shit."  
  
"She presses a picture and it tells you what she needs." Clarence spoke near abruptly, shifting on the balls of his feet, "Found out about it the other day when I was playing League."  
  
"So, your brother's Autistic?"   
  
Jerico felt the surge of uncomfortable electricity that ran its course through the room, making rounds up and down his spine as his eyes kept themselves fixated on Clarence to see his reaction.   
  
Much to his relief there was only a small sigh. "Yeah."  
  
"Look, Storm, I may be a jackass I'll fully admit that. And yeah before I started taking care of my girl I would've been right there with this guy, but I wouldn't do that to some kid." Broadside placed his can down on the countertop, wiping his mouth with the back of his good hand, "If anyone ever said that shit about Eloise I'd lay their ass out. She can't help what she's got and neither can your brother."  
  
Well, that solved that. "D-do-o y-you-ou kn-know-w i-if-f V-Ven-nom-m h-has-s i-iss-ssues-s wi-with an-nyone-ne?"  
  
"That rich ass hat?" Broadside's voice spiked with a rough bite, "He's a lil' bitch to anyone who kicks his ass. He tried to pay me off once to throw a fight. Didn't take it."  
  
"Th-thank-nk y-you-ou f-for-r y-you-r-r t-time-me." Jerico bowed his head respectfully, motioning for Clarence to go on ahead out the door. Eyeing a pen and a post-it, the troll scribbled down his number. "I-if-f y-you-ou r-rec-cieve-ve th-threat-ts o-or an-nything-g from-m thi-this-s p-pers-son-n, pl-please-se l-let u-us-s kn-know-w."  
  
*  *  *  *

"Venom get your ass out here!" Clarence growled after giving the door a solid three knocks that rattled the hinges, rage seeping through his fangs as he paced before the brilliant white door. It had been a solid twelve minutes, and not even a fly made its perch upon the knob. As if a place so completely decked out in finery would know such a humble creature as a fly. Although Jerico scarce had time to squirm in the discomfort of being around unnaturally pristine, white walls and carpets with the overwhelming stench of Windex and aerosol crawling its way inside his nostrils. A small cloud of the unnatural chemicals embed itself within his normally mighty lungs, causing pained coughs to wrack his ribcage, piercing the muscles of his diaphragm from the force of it. Tears brimmed just beneath his lashes as the force of suffocation weakened his steady resolve, the troll pressed himself limply against the wall while coughing. "H-hey, mate, what's wrong?"  
  
Weakly, Jerico managed to text through tear-blurred vision, 'I'm alright'  
  
"Mate you're hackin' up a lung. I think I see it on the floor." Feigning stepping over something before stopping mid-pace to look up into his pained features, Clarence's sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose.   
  
'I'm jUst zEnsiTive to cleljneg-' His fingers faltered as another cough nearly made him double over.   
  
"Let's just go on, mate. He can't run from us forever, yeah?" Amidst Clarence attempting to shepherd a reluctant yet coughing troll away from the door, his boot caused a crinkle of paper beneath the hoarse sounds of pain. He swiftly knelt, taking the pink piece of paper in calloused fingertips and cramming it into his pocket before Jerico could even turn around to see. "C'mon, c'mon ya big lug." As he shooed the troll over to the elevator, a faint undercurrent of glue and spray paint pierced through the scent of cleaners that left his friend near immobile from sickness, their influence lingering in his nose as they entered the elevator.   
  
The troll's rough coughs slowly began to ease as he pressed his back to the right side of the elevator, removing his thick rimmed glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose as if to steady the swirling sensation that always followed such prolonged exposure to chemicals. After all, glass only veiled so much of aerosol before it seeped on through and burned a path along his lashes, leaving them sore. Breaths came in slow shallow gasps, each burst of fresh oxygen nearly wracking at his throat as the toxins fled from his lungs.   
  
"You sure you're alright, mate?"  
  
A quick nod came from Jerico as the elevator crawled down each floor with an unsettling smoothness along the seven floors before jolting to a stop. "S-sorr-rry-y t-to w-worr-rry-y y-you-ou."  
  
"Tch, shuddup." A dismissive, almost playful tone danced along Clarence's breath as the doors slid open.   
  
The both of them stepped aside at the presence of a small, pale woman. A housekeeper judging by her uniform and the faint, lingering scent of Windex on her. Striking crimson hair adorned her heart shaped features with one side near shaved as the other draped over her shoulder in soft curls. And, from what the two could tell from attempting to keep their eyes forward from both awkwardness and an attempt to not cause discomfort for the woman, striking pale blue eyes. When Jerico gave a rough cough, the woman turned in place with a look of modest concern. "You okay, sir?"  
  
Jerico's cheeks burned, turning a veiled pink as nerves coiled into his jawbone once again. "Y-yes-s m-ma-am-m."  
  
"He's sensitive to cleaners." Clarence shifted on the balls of his heels, pushing his sleek sunglasses back overtop his slit blue eyes. He kept his back pressed to the wall, eyes down and away from the new presence.   
  
"I know the feeling. My asthma kicks up every time I clean the seventh floor."  
  
"Wh-why-y's th-that-t?"   
  
"Unfortunately," She sighed heavily, planting reddened palms on hourglass hips, "It's protocol for that floor. Nothing but rich snobs." The elevator doors opened, and the housekeeper lead the way into an overly lit, uncomfortably posh lobby decked in glimmering golds and plush greens with a dark mahogany floor and arching ceiling. "This one brat always gives me a hard time. He keeps hitting on me and every time I turn that fucker down he tries to grab at me. Last time I had to call my manager, but his mommy and daddy paid them off. Gave me a raise to keep me quiet."  
  
"D-does-s h-he g-go b-by-y V-ven-nom-m?"  
  
"Makes a weird snake noise when he says his fightin' name?" Clarence clicked his forked tongue lightly against the roof of his mouth.  
  
"Yeah, that's the guy." She sighed, popping her back with a soft noise of relief, "Hasn't been here much this month, though. Not sure why but I'm not complaining. On the other hand that does leave me responsible for cleaning up the paint stains he leaves in the hall." She tilted her head upward to look with an almost maternal softness upon Jerico's coal black eyes, "Are you sure you're okay? If it makes you feel more comfortable, I know some sign language."  
  
Oh _thank God_.  
  
The troll began to form words with his hands, 'I'm doing an investigation on Venom. We believe he may be involved in a series of harassments and attacks recently.'  
"Sounds about right." Pale blue eyes lingered on Jerico for a while before sliding over to Clarence, who was shifting his weight on the balls of his heels. "I'll help out where I can. Anything to keep that jackass from hurting anyone-" A shrill, near violent buzz wracked at Clarence and Jerico's ears, only causing the woman a mild amount of discomfort. "Duty calls. Should I tell my manager you're here?"  
  
'No, that isn't necessary. We want to be as aloof about this as possible.'  
  
"Ah, I getcha."  
  
"You should exchange numbers." Clarence's blunt statement caused a reddened, mortified expression to overcome Jerico's features, to which he was completely oblivious to.   
"Direct much, huh? I can dig that." She laughed with an airy ease, pressing her numbers into Jerico's phone when it was offered. "For the investigation, of course."  
  
"Y-yes-s m-ma-a'am-m." Jerico gave her his number before glancing over to Clarence with a mildly mischevious yet innocent smile, "M-my-y p-par-rtn-ner w-will-ll n-need-d y-your-r in-nf-form-mat-tion-n as-s we-well." It was oddly satisfying to watch as Clarence shared in his bashful misery. At least until the full weight of his words pierced through his cheek bones as icy spires.   
  
'Symptoms of Autism include hypersensitivity to lights and sounds, social anxiety....'  
  
Social Anxiety.  
  
Social. Anxiety.  
  
 **SOCIAL. ANXIETY**.  
  
Fuck! "C-Clare-ren-ce-ce I-I-!"  
  
"-don't." His tone was sharp, coarse as it shred each fragment of an apology into ribbons before it launched off of Jerico's pallet. Despite how taunt his entire frame was, a slow breath soothed the molten talons that lodged themselves into the base of his throat. Agitation knit his brows before he caught the sight of a Pokemon background on her phone. "Which one's your starter?"  
  
"Litten this gen." She chirped happily. "How about you?"  
  
"Rowlet."  
  
"Potato owl?"  
  
"Yup."   
  
Jerico's skin crawled, humid torment scrapped a pathway between his ribs. He knew nothing of Pokemon, but it seemed to be his only balm amidst this silent hell that carved its name between his eyes. He was so lost in his own spiraling thoughts that he barely caught the housekeeper clearing her throat.   
  
"Sorry, big guy, but your partner said you guys were needing a schedule list for the shuttle buses around here? They're out by the self-help desk over there."  
  
"Th-thank-nk y-you-ou, m-ma'am-m." With lowered ears and a softly swaying tail, the troll scampered over to the self-help desk and grabbing as many different kinds of pamphlets as he believed that would help.   
  
"Your name's Clarence right?"   
  
The dragon jolted as he finished exchanging their information, feeling his sunglasses tilt askew, "Yeah. Yours is..."  
  
"Crimson. Well, I prefer Crimson anyway." She giggled softly, running lithe, pale fingers through her striking hair, "Cooler than Shaelynn anyway."  
  
"Both're cool."  
  
"Anyway," As her pager gave another harsh buzz, she stuffed the cursed item into her scrub's pocket to smother out the sound. "Your friend over there didn't mean any harm by it, sweetie. I do that to my shy friends all the time without even thinking." At the sound of clamoring papers, they glanced behind them to see Jerico whose brow was furrowed with guilt bent on hand and knee attempting to pick up the scattered stack of pamphlets he managed to drop while the lobby gathered more and more traffic. "He really is sorry."  
  
"...I know." Clarence gave a rasped sigh, feeling the tension slowly lift from his shoulder blades at Crimson's words.  
  
"Just go easy on him, okay? He's trying." She winked at him before hearing her pager harp at her again, reluctantly sprinting over to the elevator.   
  
Clarence watched her as she filed into the thankfully empty elevator, slipping his fingers into his pants pocket to pull out the wad of pink before unraveling it. Huh, a disconnect notice?


	12. The Puzzle Piece Case pt 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Puzzle Piece case is coming to a close, but there are times not all the pieces can be placed back where they were.

"For the ninth fuckin' time, mate, I FORGIVE YOU!"   
  
Clarence's growl made a wadding Basset Hound scamper away from its chewed up tennis ball as he reclined on the park bench, a menagrie of deep fried foods lay in paper bags upon his lap. Mid afternoon sun pierced through the small gap of space between his sunglasses and his reptilian eyes, a welcoming waft of pumpkin spice and coffee lifting from his paper cup as he took another swig. It never failed to soothe his buzzed nerves. "You paid my way for the shuttle bus, you bought me lunch and pumpkin spice coffee, hell man ya even tried to buy me every damned packet of YuGiOh cards you could find cuz I mentioned I collected 'em. **I. FORGIVE. YOU.** "  
  
Jerico sat beside of the dragon, tail and ears lowered with the lingering frost of guilt that embedded its parasitic fangs right between his eyes. 'I made you uncomfortable. I should've have forgotten about your needs. I'm not a good friend.'  
  
A loud grunt burst through the brisk air now rid of the fog that once laid thick on the streets, "Just remember from now on! That and if we're talkin' to a pretty girl warn me before ya send her my way."  
  
"I-I th-though-ght-t y-you-ou w-were-re g-giv-ving-g h-her m-my in-nfo-form-mation-n a-about-t th-the in-nves-stig-gat-tion-n."  
  
"I was."   
  
The troll rubbed his own thick neck, feeling heat rebloom upon his dark skin before raising his milkshake to his lips, "Sh-she-e w-was-s b-beau-uti-iful-l, w-wasn'-n't-t sh-she-e?"  
  
"I liked her hair. She looked like an anime character."  
  
"I-I've-ve n-nev-ver-r s-seen-n an-nim-me-e b-bef-fore-re."  
  
"Guess what we're doing t'night." He scooped a portion of deep fried mushrooms and cheese curds into his palm before shoveling them into his fanged maw, "I'll start ya out with Dragon Ball Z. Ya gotta go anywhere after we kick Venom's ass?"  
  
As he tried to balance his burrito and milkshake in his lap, Jerico began to text, 'I can't say for sure if it was him or not. I'm a detective in name only. My main job here is to keep things from getting worse.'  
  
"That's why ya couldn't just break into his place, huh?"  
  
The troll nodded, 'Yeah. Unless you were in there getting hurt I have no jurisdiction to do that. I'm limited on what I can and cannot do. As for if I've anywhere to go after this case is over the answer is no. Not until Perchella calls on me again. It could be days or it could be weeks. Usually, I either stay in Stockholm or a hotel where my last case was.'  
  
"Stockholm?"  
  
'It's a Nordic city.'  
  
"Ya mean like Sweden, right?'  
  
"Y-yes-s."  
  
"So you wanna stay here until then? Once I get my place straightened up I've gotta guest room. I don't care if you wanna hang out."  
  
'Are you sure I wouldn't be an inconvenience?'  
  
"Noooo you won't be-CORGIS!" Clarence beamed, sitting up at the sight of a small herd of small, waddling dogs that attempted to jump at the sight of a thrown toy. "Look at 'em waddle. God, I love those dogs."  
  
'Why not just adopt one?'  
  
"Landlord says no dogs. Sucks ass."   
  
'Allergies of the other tenants?'  
  
"Nah he just wants t' be a dick."  
  
A rough gust of wind pressed on through Jerico's thick locks, fraying them in a mess in a ghosting motion overtop his features as he fumbled with his burrito. Mid-bite, Clarence burst into laughter while struggling to keep crumbs from flying out of his cheeks. "Wh-what-t?"  
  
"Ya look like'a sheepdog with your hair like that!"  
  
"D-do-o I-I?"  
  
"Yeah!!"  
  
The troll furrowed his brow in conflict for but a moment before the gentle image of a dopey mop-haired dog waddling about in a klutzy gallop entered his mind. How could he not smile at the thought? Clarence's laughter tended to be infectious anyway, spreading through his lungs as a welcoming ember. A synthetic chime brought a twitch to his elongated ear, causing him to pull out his phone. His cheeks began to hurt from how long a smile had remained plastered on his face, "Cl-Clare-rence-ce."  
  
"Hm?" He crooned his head over, tilting a bit at the image. "Is that a pit bull in a onesie?"  
  
"M-mm-mmhmm-m."  
  
"And is that...is that a pacifier in its mouth?" Giggles wracked Jerico's ribs, leaving him only able to nod in response. What perhaps brought the most laughter, as childish as it was, the complete and utterly resigned expression Mama J was sporting while wearing the ensemble. Not torment by any means, but how her features even as a dog scowling into that of a hilarious annoyance was far too much for the troll. Even Clarence brightened at the sight. "That's adorable. She yours?"  
  
'N-no-o, sh-she's a-a f-friend-d of-f m-mine's-s." Noting how Clarence tilted his head, the troll scrolled through a few pictures before settling on one of Luca and Mama J after ice cream.   
  
"He your kid?"  
  
"N-no-o, h-he-e's a-a f-friend-d I-I m-made-de on-n a-a pr-re-ev-vious-s c-case-se."  
  
A slow, careful breath seeped through tightly lace fangs as Clarence reached Jerico's cell phone back to him, "You...stay friends with people, right? Like after your detective gig is over?" Concern leaked from his serpent tongue, an earnest expression etched itself into his features, unhindered by useless bravado or theatrics. Almost pleading in its softness, a searching look of honesty or confirmation.   
  
Jerico smiled before sending Clarence a text, 'Yes. I don't make friends very often, so when I do I try to keep in contact as often as I can.'  
  
This seemed to ease the dragon, bringing a salt water and seafoam ease back to his near glowing eyes before he rummaged in his pocket. "Just checkin', mate." Clarence handed Jerico the wad of pink, "Found this at his place."  
  
The troll took it, reading over its contents briefly, "A-a d-dis-sconn-nnect-t n-not-tice-ce?"  
  
"Yeah. You smell that paint on it too, yeah?"  
  
How could he not? The toxic cologne burned through his senses, nearly rattling his sense of balance again. 'Looks like he's been having issues with mommy and daddy lately. From what I understand he depends mostly on their income.'  
  
"Seems like. So, how're we gonna blind side this fucker?"  
  
'Let me make a call. Hopefully, the Fate isn't preoccupied.'  
  
"The wha?"  
  
'Remember me mentioning my boss has an associate that tends to help lead us in the right direction? That is what she is called.'  
  
"Ah, gotcha."  
  
Jerico typed to Perchella, waiting for only a lukewarm moment before hearing his phone bing loudly. The moment his slate eyes scanned his message, his dark skin paled. 'Clarence, we have to go back to the gym. Now.' He stood, eyes darkened as clouds gathering heft just overhead filled to the brim with a blackened rain whose weight began to cluster. 'Please trust me, we need to go.'  
  
"Metro or Uber?"  
  
"Wh-what-tev-ver-r's f-fas-ster-r."  
  
*  *  *  *

"I-I'm tellin' ya I'm fine, damn it!"   
  
"Ma'am, you have a compound fracture in your leg. It's a miracle you've not gone into shock."  
  
"I served as a marine for-DON'T YOU GET THAT NEEDLE NEAR ME!"  
  
A perplexed expression overcame the two paramedics as they attempted to lay her down in the back of the ambulance. Only a block away from the gym laid the scene, a small crowd of bystanders both human and para with an icy mist beginning to sprinkle with the faintest patter. The troll used his frame as a buffer to offer Clarence at least a suggestion of room as they carved their way through the crowd.   
  
"S...Storm!"  
  
At Jeraldine's call, he sprinted onward nearly shoving a minotaur to the concrete before scrambling in the rain which gained momentum. He braced himself against the ambulance against one of the paramedics' drowned out words, but the sight of Jerico's badge as he closed in from behind earned him a silent nod of solidarity. The dragon tilted his head, blinking as if to shake the mirage just before his eyes. "Is...is that a fuckin' bone stickin' out of your leg?"  
  
"Only a little damn, I'm fine. I've...I've had worse...." The older woman's head floated in an ill silence, eyes flickered before she braced herself against the metal railing of her cot, "...ain't gonna lie...starting to hurt..."  
  
'Ma'am, who did this?'  
  
A murmured slur slipped past her lips before she was eased onto her back. "We have to get her to the hospital. Are either of you family?"  
  
"She's my friend-"  
  
"-family only, kid." The second paramedic slammed the doors, thankfully after Jerico eased Clarence from their harshness as the ambulance screamed down the street. Sirens blared with a piercing cry, parting congested traffic with ease as the rain came now in thick curtains. Jerico could see it, how the boiling maelstrom wrought its fury in every rising scale, every heated vein that pulsed on Clarence's neck and wrists. The dragon made a rough march, pushing his way through the dwindling crowd before walking every silent centimeter until he reached the back stairwell. He roughly stroke his chest in a steady tempo of only three before ceasing, his sunglasses slid down his European nose. Slowly, so slowly breath trailed behind in a small cloud of warm mist, the troll approached in his peripheral. The dragon pressed his brow to the cool metal door, laying now throbbing fists to rough brick.   
  
"C-Cla-arence-ce-"  
  
"- _family only, kid_." A mocking recreation of the paramedic's uptight tone vibrated through Jerico's heated ears, dripping with wrath and pain befitting the now swirling storm which ravaged concrete and steel. "Jackass."  
  
"H-he-e w-was-sn't-t k-kind-d, b-but h-he had-d t-to d-do-o h-his-s j-job-b. Sh-she had-d t-to g-go-o t-to th-the-e h-hos-spital-l."  
  
His gentle, almost maternal tone washed over seething, wrought nerves as a rolling tide bringing a breath to Clarence's chest. "...still an ass."  
  
"Th-the o-other-r o-one w-was-s go-going-g t-to l-let-t u-us-s g-go-o."  
  
"I know...fuckin' fuck!"  
  
"D-does-s sh-she h-have-ve f-fam-mily-y."  
  
"An ex-husband, a boyfriend, a sister-Georgina I think-and niece."  
  
"O-odd-dds-s a-are th-the p-pol-lice-ce w-will qu-ques-stion-tion her-r."  
  
"...I'll wring his neck."  
  
"W-we-e d-don't-t kn-know-w i-if-"  
  
"-I smelled spraypaint and Windex!"  
  
A deep gaveled sigh rumbled in Jerico's chest. He slowly rose a hand just an inch shy of Clarence's shoulder but retracted at the sight of his rising scales that shifted in anger. "I-I c-can't-t a-act-t i-if-f i-it's-s a-a h-hum-man-n on-n h-human-n c-crime-e. As-s m-much-ch as-s I-I w-want-t t-to-o."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Th-the b-best-t we-e c-can-n d-do-o i-is n-not-t act-t on-n im-mpulse-se. H-he w-wants-s y-you-u t-to lash-sh out-t. H-he's pl...plann-nning f-for-r i-it. Wh-why else-se w-would-d h-he att-ttack-ck J-Jeral-ldine-e?"  
  
In a softness between rolling thunder, in between every single drop that poured from cracked heavens a solem whisper left the dragon prince's lips. "...it's my fault."  
"N-no. Cla-laren-ce-ce, y-you d-did n-noth-thing-g wr-rong-g-"  
  
"-how did he fuckin' know?!" With an armored, scaled fist he slammed with all his might into the door, causing a crater into the Para label with a dull metalic thump. "I...I tried. I tried to act 'normal'. I tried to hide it. I was doing good. And this shit still fuckin' follows me!"  
  
"Cl-larence-ce. L-look-k't-t m-me."  
  
The troll's deep voice rolled with the thunder, easing the dragon's eyes upward from their tinted armor.   
  
Jerico slowly rose his hand again, placing it with a reverent gentleness upon his tense yet giving shoulder. There was no ounce of hesitation, no distance of self or presence, no ounce of seething bite or scales. "Th-this-s...i-is n-not-t r-right-t. Y-you-u sh-should-d....n-nev-ver-r....N-NEV-VER-R h-have-ve t-to h-hide-de. Th-there...i-is n-noth-thing-g wr-rong-g w-with-th y-you-u."  
  
 _That's what dad said._  
  
 _That's what mom said._  
  
 _Hell that's what Hime said._   
  
He knew their words were true, but their truth both soothed and pained him as a double edged sword. Clarence could only close his eyes, steadying his breathing as the gushing rain eased into a modest trickle. With careful yet trembling hands, the dragon turned the knob, "...let's...just go watch Dragon Ball."  
  
"D-didn't-t i-it-t h-have-ve a-a Z-Z in-n th-the t-title-le?"  
  
"...it's a long story."   
  
As Clarence stepped inside, Jerico shook his lengthy, thick locks not unlike a dog from its moisture before scrolling through his phone.   
  
Four missed messages from Crimson.  
  
*  *  *  *

"I told you I'm fine, Storm."  
  
Clarence reclined on the couch, resting the back of his head and shoulders on an armrest while attempting to balance his thai take out box on his toned stomach. Pressing his phone between his ear and shoulder he swallowed a mouthful of noodles before clearing his throat, "Your bone was stickin' out That is the opposite of _fine_."  
  
"Nevermind that. Now listen, Storm, I'm trusting you to help Georgina take care of the gym for the next three months. You did say you don't care to stay on in the loft? You don't have to pay rent or anything so don't worry about that."  
  
"My lease's up on my apartment anyway. I don't mind."  
  
"I had to get her to deactivate the alarms so you boys won't set it off but in a few days she'll put them back up again."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Now promise me you won't go near Venom. He's trying to provoke you, and we both know what'll happen if you snap."  
  
"He twisted your leg-"  
  
"-the damned coward smacked me the wrong way with a crowbar when I turned away. I'm almost fifty, Storm, my body's not like my military days."  
  
"He could've killed you, Jeraldine." Clarence nearly scolded, picking off a cluster of noodles and meat that dropped on his chest and guiding it to his mouth, "I don't give a damn if he sends me letters for the rest of my life. Hurting you crossed the line."  
  
"Storm, he didn't kill me. I'm fine. Hell I needed a break anyway. Just...promise me one thing, alright?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
With an almost gentle tone, the battle hardened woman nearly whispered into the phone, "Be the better man."  
  
"...I'll try to be."  
  
"Alright. Be easy on Georgina. She might look like a brick shit house but she's too tender hearted to hurt anyone."  
  
"Me and Jerico'll keep an eye out on her."  
  
"Alright good. I'm getting ready to head off'a here. Night shift's coming in."  
  
"...are you grabbin' nurses' asses again?"  
  
"No comment. "  
  
"That's how you get your boyfriends, ya pick a nurse or paramedic or somethin' you think's cute and grab his ass."  
  
"Hey that's how I got my first and second husband."  
  
"Will ya behave?!"  
  
"Hey, I'm injured not dead."  
  
Clarence rolled his eyes as Jerico walked in, holding his own box of take out and reaching Clarence his cofffe while stepping over mounds of emptied two liters and tea jugs before plopping on the floor with his back braced against the couch. "Get some sleep ya old hag."  
  
"You too, Storm."  
  
He ended the call, laying his cellphone on the floor as Jerico attempted to hold his chop sticks. After a solid minute of fumbling and frustrated grunts Clarence reached him a plastic fork. "Here."  
  
"Th-thanks-s." Jerico rolled a mass of chicken and noodles unto his fork before taking a bite, "H-how-w i-is-s sh-she-e?"  
  
"Grabbin' ass and being a stubborn old broad."  
  
"S-so-o w-well-ll."  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Th-that-t-'s g-good-d." After taking another bite of his food, the troll pierced the top of his boba tea and began to drink, chewing the tapioca pearls after nearly having one slide down his throat without warning. "Th-they-y m-make-ke i-it l-look-k s-so-o e-eas-sy t-to u-use-se cho-ops-sticks-s in-n an-nime-e."  
  
"Everything looks easy in anime."  
  
Netflix had Dragon Ball Z up and running, playing as a constant in the background for the past few hours. It was all the troll could think of to keep him preoccupied and calm, not plotting vengence when the police were undoubtedly combing through the first layer of paperwork as they spoke. "S-so, i-is-s P-Picc-ccol-lo-o a-a d-dem-mon-n o-or an-n al-lien-n? I-it's-s c-conf-fusing-g."  
  
"Alien. Akira Toriyama had him in mind to be a demon in Dragon Ball, but ended up changing his mind in Dragon Ball Z when thinking of Namek."  
  
He nodded, taking another drink of tea before scolling through his phone to read what Crimson had sent once again:  
  
'Hey Jerico :) Just wanted to make sure you and your partner were okay.'  
'I ended up having to clean on the 7th floor again. I saw Venom coming back to his apartment at 3:30 or something. He was holding a crow bar and trying to get a bunch of things together. I couldn't get a good look because one of the other girls were in my way. I'll keep you posted.'  
'Okay he's still in his room, but he's been yelling on the phone to the landlord about his rent again. Apparently he's been behind or something. One of the girls told me it was because he's not been showing up to his fights and his mom and dad cut him off.'  
'I'll message you when he leaves.'  
  
Of course he replied after managing to bring Clarence to a simmer instead of a raging boil, but Jerico couldn't help but reread the texts just in case they updated without his knowing. He sent her a thanks, of course, as well as a small warning to keep herself out of sight and out of danger.   
  
"So did Crimson reply back yet?"  
  
"N-not-t y-yet-t." Jerico turned his phone face down on the carpet, "Wh-what-t d-did sh-she s-say-y t-to y-you-u?"  
  
"Pretty much the same thing, but we ended up talking about Dark Souls. Oh and she thinks you're cute."  
  
His cheeks flushed darkly as he nearly choked on his bite of noodles, "Sh-she-e d-did?!"  
  
"Yeah, like a puppy."  
  
He groaned softly, raking fingers through his hair a moment before taking another drink of boba, "G-grea-at-t. A-at-t l-leas-st sh-she's-s n-not af-frai-id-d of-f m-me-e."  
  
"Afraid of you? Who's afraid of you?"  
  
He sighed softly, picking up his phone to text, 'A lot of people. Humans and para both. If they're not avoiding me for my species they're making fun of my stutter, my skin, even where I'm from. I know I'm not exactly going to fit in anywhere, but sometimes I wish I could.'  
  
"Hey, all that's a _part_ of you. **Not all of you** , but the pieces matter too. I say the hell with what they think. Own that shit, mate."  
  
He rubbed his thick neck, feeling the warmth linger on his palm before shrugging. After watching T.V for a small while longer a long yawn nearly unhinged his jaw. While the few fight scenes were entertaining, most of it he confessed was of the lead character Goku and his enemy Feiza screaming at the top of their lungs to 'power up' and near endless monologuing that favored a panel of Superman. Granted they were watching the dubbed version and the subbed was different in execution. Was it always nessesary for the characters to announce their attacks? Either way, it was still a pleasant way to spend a few hours.   
  
"You tired?"  
  
'A little. What time is it getting to be?'  
  
"Almost five. You didn't check your phone?" Jerico shook his head, making Clarence chuckle a bit, "You're tired. Get some sleep."  
  
'Aren't you tired yet?'  
  
"I'm a night owl."  
  
'We should get some sleep. We're going to Venom's apartment in the morning.'  
  
"What if the cops are there?"  
  
'With my badge it won't be an issue for me. However you'll probably have to wait in the lobby with Crimson or something.'  
  
"Fair enough." Clarence yawned, setting what was left of his food aside before strethcing out, "Care to leave a light on, mate?"  
  
"I-I'll-ll l-leave-ve on-n th-the T-T.V, b-but I-I'm l-leav-ving-g i-it on-n m-mute-te."  
  
"'kay."  
  
Jerico climbed up, stepping over their landmine of trash before turning off the lights. As he crawled into the air mattress, Clarence was already on his side, back facing against the troll and breathing strong and steady. He removed his glasses, setting them aside before leaning into the plastic bag of air. He slowly allowed his eyes to flutter shut, drifting into the blackness for what felt like a moment.   
  
That was until a sharp bing ripped through the silence of his sleep.  
  
Squinting as he held the offensive light which pierced through the comfortable semi darkness, Jerico felt around for his glasses and slid them back on his nose to focus his blurry vision. However the message was ice to his senses, jolting him back to a sober awareness.   
  
'Venom left 10 minutes ago. I was assigned his room today. Found a bunch of wadded up papers for Clarence.'  
  
'Was there anything about where he said he might go?'  
  
After a moment she replied, 'There's one paper that might. He dropped it in the hallway.'  
  
'Please tell me what it says.'  
  
Silence wrought the moments before another sharp bing echoed throughout the room, '7th street, the old garage up north. Get your ass up here, Retard.' After another moment she respoded again, 'That's the old parking garage not too far from where Jeraldine's gym is. What do I need to do?'  
  
Turning his head, Jerico ensured that Clarence was asleep. His breathing was still steady and slow, not a single muscle in his frame moved outside of this. The troll moved in complete silence, sliding out of the air mattress before stepping into his shoes and buttoning his vest. Each step was airy, muted of motion and careful not to wake Clarence. After manuvering around the fallen debris, he scribbled a note on the counter explaining a shortage of snacks and a quick return. 'I an hour if I don't respond please call the police and tell them where he is.'  
  
'Okay I will. Be careful.'  
  
'Thank you.'   
  
As the door came to a soft click behind him, Clarences slit eyes remained widely, sleeplessly open.

* * * *

_Lightning screamed in a muted static just above the ocean's surface, waves swelling into a great height before crashing a pathway into the warring body below. Back pressed against a small cove just beyond the humble reefs of the mainland, Clarence flinched at the burst of feral thunder that echoed into his portion of the sea. His fins lowered as the pressed against his cheeks, flaming talons carvind their pathway up his stomach's base as he pressed plated, armored hands to muffle the noise._   
  
_"Clarence!" Tangaora slithered as fluid through the gnashing waves, brilliant golden scales glimmered amidst regal ink that carved its own tapestry through the length of his build. Sunset eyes scanned every inch of coral, every maw of bowing shark before striking sands of gold peeked from the small cove. Easily able to slither his lengthy form through teh waves to the calmer undercurrent he pressed his draconic head against the threashhold but didn't enter in. He knew that the half dragon needed space. "Clarence, there you are. I feared for you, my son."_   
  
_"...is it almost over?"_   
  
_"You and I both know it isn't yet." Shifting his top half from its jurrasic yet regal serpentine form into a war starred, sternly broad shouldered warrior he sat himself upon the ledge of the small space. Thick waves blackened as the night sky frayed at great length down ink black flesh which bore needled carvings, complimenting the darkened features that framed his face. Tangaora inched only centimeters closer, "Clarence, why did you run from the elders?"_   
  
_Jolting from another rampage of thunder, his lanky limbs slowly unfolded, his chest reddened from having struck it only moments ago. "...they keep telling me my skin will break if I get tattoos. My 'pasty ass' can't hold ink they said."_   
  
_"Oh?" His warm tone curved words into a humble smile that rarely met scar and pearled teeth. Slowly his large hand planted itself upon Clarence's brow, having met no hesitation. No recoiling. No tenseness. "Is that so?"_   
  
_"I want to be a real warrior, dad!" His voice cracked, manhood struggled against conflicting biology that both yearned for yet rejected growth, "I know you tell me that I am, that me being pale doesn't effect how strong I am. But-!"_   
  
_"Son, you do not gain tattoos to become a warrior. They only show that you are." Tangaora wrapped his arm around his son's shoulders, unbothered by how his regal dark tones clashed against milky freckled flesh that bore the striking burns of the sun. "It doesn't matter what the elders say, nor anyone for that matter. I've told you time and again, 'pasty ass' or not you are MY son. You'll be a warrior yet, son."_   
  
_"They call me Unwanted." The smallest sniffle trembled past his split lip, "I've heard the other warriors talking. Saying that I'm just a burdon on you, that you should've let me die."_   
  
_"...this isn't just about you being pale is it, son?"_   
  
_"They call me a beast!" Clarence struggled to wipe his eyes despite the water preventing tears from falling behind clear lids, "They make fun of me, call me an animal...some won't even spar with me anymore..."_   
  
_After long moments of silence, Tangaora shifted to where he and Clarence sat facing outward, their portion of undercurrent calm while the surface screamed in its burst of war. "I won't lie, son. You can be a challenge at times. But that is to be expected. Do you know why?" Clarence's lithe shoulders gave a small shrug. "Because you are a storm."_   
  
_"...a storm?"_   
  
_"You see how we are safe in this undercurrent, but overhead the seas could rip the stronget of boats in half?" The small dragon nodded. "This is what you are, son. The elders, the other warriors, they only see the storm from the outside and nothing more. They think because all they know is the calmer water that the storm is something to mock. And sometimes, son, a fool will swim in the water without respecting the storm. They will always underestimate it, and will **always** be their undoing. Do you understand, son?"_   
  
_Clarence only nodded, his reflective eyes now fixated upon his kindred waves, how the lightning screamed as it parted pitch black clouds. The talons that once bore a path into his stomach unhinged, noises faded as the calm waters belied the raging storm overhead._

* * * *

Aresol.  
  
Jerico covered his mouth with tight fingers pressing his back to a worn concrete pillar just before the entrance of the parking lot. Manuvering around the keep out tape was easy enough, knowing how long it took to wake Jeraldine post surgery and even longer to dive into the staggering amount of paperwork involved in a warrent the police wouldn't be near here yet. The troll glanced at his phone, attempting to place time with the growing dusk. He would never get used to the time difference here. A rough cough bubbled in his throat, threatening to burst free but he refused to allow it. It was only one human. An upper class, pale faced Rhode Island transplant.   
  
This had to be quick.  
  
Removing his glasses and folding them neatly into his vest pocket, Jerico stepped into the pitch black. A damp, almost swamp-like humidity only thickened with the piercing scent of cleaner that lingered in his nose. Parking space paint was faded into near nonexistance from years of neglect, portions of blacktop dipped into pothole and columns were decored in various styles of grafiti and vulgarity of nearly every language. Ears twitched as he attempted to seek out the usual signs; unsteady breathing, rapid heartbeat, unsteady steps. Anything really. All his ears could pick up was the curious static, as if a mic was struggling to be plugged in. As he neared the middle floor, a shrill burst of violent synthetic wailing crawled against his tender eardrums, stark strobe lights brought a feral growl as upon instinct he removed a palm from his mouth and nose to nurse the searing burn that marred his eyes. Senses throbbed, wracked in battling pains enough to weaken the tendons in his knees, causing him to hunch over. A loud, numb crack of iron struck the base of his skull, making him fall due to his weakened state. A stench that screamed for dominance over his varying levels of torment only suffocated him more, adding to the impact. As the jittery squeaks of the strobe lights stedied to a stillness, the stero shut off, the troll forced his eyes to peer open through the blurred mess. Piecing together the presence, he could tell then it was Venom. The supposed former 'Golden Boy' of Jeraldine's Gym, standing with a haughty air of self importance as his features wrinkled with disatisfaction and arrogance. Mildly sideswept brown hair with dark eyes so small and devoid of light they favored black holes, unkept brows with pearl, straight teeth only a shade lighter than his skin, and ears almost a centimeter too large for his small head. A man of smaller stock, unforged muscle that housed a 5'6 frame, snarled at the troll who was cradeling his throbbing skull.  
  
"Who the hell are you?!" His Rhode Island tongue barked not unlike a drunken hound as he rose the crowbar in his hand just overhead. "Let me guess, you're one of his 'friends' right? Doesn't matter-!"   
  
Thickly armored arms wrapped around Venom's waist, his small body was flung in that instant at least three parking spaces away. Venom attempted to pull himself up, but Clarence stradeled his waist. With a swift strike of poised fingertips, he swiftly implanted the tips into a small space in his shoulders earning a dull pop which echoed over to Jerico's ears. He screamed, fingers now unable to hold the crowbar from numbness that swarmed his nerves from shoulder to fingertip.   
  
"Wh-what did you fuckin' do-!" Clarence gripped Venom by the throat, rough and with searing claws whose scales shifted against frail skin just overtop his juggular. His fins twitched, horror overcame Venom's dull eyes as they widened at the sight of the Silent Storm. A piercing blue was his eyes, wracked in gnashing waves as sapphire bolts sparked as lightning while coiling in fear before his pitch black slit irises. The dragon's grip tightened, earning a gasp from the writhing creature that struggled for breath as the thundering ocean within him bore all unyeilding, wild vengence. "F...fuckin'....d...do it! Ret-ACK!!!"  
  
Jerico, barely able to push himself up enough to sit, coughed as his eyes still yet burned from abuse, "Cl-Cl...Cla-" Another hoarse sound burst past his lips, a large hand cupped his throbbing skull.  
  
A squeeze brought tears to Venom's eyes as the dragon stared near detatched at the purpling flesh beneath his grasp. After a long moment of misery, Clarence slowly crooned his head down, rough hot breath forcing its way into Venom's ear as he spoke. " **Fuck. You**." In an eased motion, he released the now red and bruised neck as Venom struggled for air. Clarence roughly gripped Venom's perfect hair, dragging the weakened husk of gasping body over to a support beam before taking a portion of chain he found just behind the speakers and wrapped it far too tight around limbs that slowly regained sensation. He knelt beside Jerico afterword, wrapping an arm around tense shoulders and awkwardly braced the troll against him before helping him to stand. "...y'alright?"  
  
"Y...y-yeah-h."  
  
"Call or text or whatever."  
  
The troll nodded, slowly regaining breath as his fingers dailed for the timed code.   
  
"Everyone knows!" Venom screamed, his filth laden tongue bounced off dampened walls. Clarence's entire frame tensed, but he did not turn his head. He did not even look back at Venom though the barking lapdog demanded it. "I texted them, all the guys before I left! Figured one of them would bring you here but this works better. They all know now! They all know that you're a fuckin' retard now!!!" Jerico growled, staggering in an attempt to step towards the barking human but Clarence held him back. "What's wrong, retard? Too stupid to answer? I knew your mommy should've bashed your head in!!"  
  
Clarence turned his head, only to the slightest degree before glancing down. He began to giggle brightly, almost childishly, the clash of aura near nausiated Jerico.   
  
"What's so funny?!" Venom glanced down at his crotch, mortified to find that his designer jeans were drenched. "Wh...what did you fuckin' do?!"  
  
"Hit your pressure spots nothin' more." Clarence laughed hard, ribs throbbing from lack of oxygen as he helped Jerico down the ramp. His smile began to fade as they neared the bottom pillar, a rocking tide now a somber crashing of waves. Jerico gently pat his crown, motioning to the exit with a soft grunt. The dragon released a breath, tensing at the sound of sirens miles away.  
  
*  *  *  *

'Make sure you lock the door before you leave."  
  
The muffled roaring chatter barely reached the locker room as Clarence, knuckles bandaged and ready for combat, typed into his phone. A full week had passed since encountering Venom. A week of avoiding eye contact with everyone at the gym but them keeping to an awkward silence. A week of helping Georgina, or what little he could without getting frustrated at his own glitch in communication. But also a week of staying up late while eating take out. A week of laughing at cheesy 90's, over the top 2000's, and critiquing modern anime. A week of attempting to teach Jerico how to play League much less do anything on the computer other than email. A week of sparring, managing to put his ass on the mat for a change.   
  
A week of not being alone.  
  
"Clarence." Georgina's voice chirped from the doorway, bringing the Dragon to attention, "Fight starts in fige minutes, honey."  
  
"...someone showed up this time?"  
  
"Yeah. Since Venom got released early it's been hard to get people in. Um but yeah, five minutes. Okay?"  
  
"'kay. Thanks." As the taller, gentler sister left him to teh locker room, Clarence resumed texting, 'You have the spare key, right?'  
  
"Yes. I should only be away for a few weeks. They're sending me to D.C.'  
  
'Does that have to do with that Unicorn chick from Alabama? The one whose glimmer glitched out at the police station?'  
  
'No, Ms. Whitechapel has some of her senior Reapers working on that case.'  
  
'K. Bring me back something then.'  
  
'Will do. I need a new book anyway, finished T.K.A.M. I'll text or call when my plane lands.'  
  
'K.'  
  
'Be safe okay? Don't let them get to you.'  
  
'I won't.'  
  
'By the way Crimson mentioned wanting to go to the movies, but I won't be able to go this week. Are you ok to go without me there?'  
  
'I think I can handle it. You call dibs or?'  
  
'Dibs?'  
  
'Nevermind.'  
  
'But seriously, Clarence, don't let them bother you.'  
  
'YES mom.' He glanced at the time, feeling those all too familiar talons remain poised to strike, fed by the muffled murmuring and worrysome thoughts of who he was fighting. But moreso how his opponent would treat him. Faceless voices began to clash into one another, blurring into the dragon's mind as Venom's words remained ever the parasite. He turned off his phone, placing it into his locker before glancing at the dusty window in the far left of the locker room. The glass, though filthy, was more than opaque enough to highlight his worried reflection. "They all _know_ , huh?" After a long breath, the dragon gripped his shirt collar, pulling each inch of length and sleeve off pale, scarred, inked muscle before tossing it to the side. He rummaged through his shorts pocket, pulling his wavy mess of hair back into a pony tail with a band.  
  
The center of the gym of the all but abandoned high school was lit with a singular spotlight, their ring made of old tarp and red and blue chalk due to lack of materials. Georgina towered among the cluster of faceless shadows, a woman of warrior stock but a voice so demure it didn't suit the sport. She stomped center ring three times, silencing the mass of shadow briefly as they squirmed in anticipation for their bets to enter the light. "Tonight's first match! In this corner," She motioned to the right as a the fighter stepped forward, "Coming in at 200 pounds all the way from Minnesota. You know 'im, you love 'im! Give it up for Tundra!" At the sight of the ginger haired, burley warrior who only came six inches shy of Georgina's height, the crowd burst into a roar. He rose his arms, beckoning for more from his spectators before they were silenced again. "And in this corner, coming in at 175 pounds! The wildcard of our circut from down under! The Silent Storm!"   
  
A booming, thunderous collection of cheers rattled the cheep sheet metal of the old gym, rolling as thunder. Steadily stomping upon aged floors, causing talong to ghost within Clarence's stomach while being fed by the buzz of nerves as he stepped slowly into the light. Each fleurescent ray reflecting on the inkwork he sported proudly, puzzle pieces of red, blue, and yellow scattered from wrists to shoulders, meeting in brief clusteres here and there as they fell upon his back down his shoulder blades. They faded unto a Norse style shield with rhunes on its hilt and blade, which began just inches below his scars and spanned to near mid back in detail. The blade, though double edged and lethal, had jigsaw patterns taken out of the metal. The dragon took a low breath, fighting the strangeness that threatened his senses.   
  
Humans were watching.  
  
Para were watching.  
  
Dragons were watching.  
  
However, his reptilion eyes widened as Tundra rose his fist center ring, the brawny warrior mouthed a message.   
  
'All. You've. Got.'  
  
A slow smile, a wild grin that only befit a Viking just before launching himself into battle, carved into the corners of Clarence's cheeks. He braced himself, raising a hand only to curl his finger in a beckoning motion to his challenger. Upon the loud burst of primal glee as the two forces of nature clashed, the door at the uppermost part of the gym slammed shut. Venom snarled, walking down graffiti adorned halways while taking another swig of whiskey before throwing the battle down the length of shadow. He held his crowbar firm in hand, eyeing the door which led to the pathway to the locker room before a sihlouette paused him. Light flickered as the figure stepped closer. "...Broadside?"  
  
"Where **is** she?" A feral growl slipped through the icy shadows, both fists clinched as he neared Venom.  
  
"...y...your arm's all healed up no-"  
  
"Where. Is. She."  
  
"What-"  
  
" **WHERE IS ELOUISE**!!!"  
  
The burst of primal rage trembled aged glass. Venom took a single step back, only to find that the shadow bore mas. Was it his fear, or did the darkness form itself into a wall?! "Wh-who the hell is Elouise? Y-your old woman or?"  
  
"My daughter you son of a bitch!" With an impressive speed, Broadside held Venom by the scruff, lifting him a good six inches off the floor and to his eyes, "We all know what you did. To Jeraldine. To Storm. To that kid when you were in school. We all fuckin' know. You think I'd give a damn that Storm's got what my baby's got?!"  
  
"I-I didn't do anything to her I swear I don't go for Re-" Venom recieved a rough, merciless punch to the face while still being held up.   
  
"Say it again bitch! Say that fucking word again and not even your mommy and daddy can fix what we'll do to you!"  
  
"W-we?!"  
  
"Aw are you going to piss your pants again?" A lethal purr emerged from the inky blakness as sweet Stepped from its maw, arms crossed and eyes fierly glowing with unnatural light. "You've been meeting with them, haven't you, Venom. Tall men with wolf tattoos on their necks. How much did they pay for her, hm? Enough for rent?"  
  
"My girl woke up, Bryan. You knocked her out with that damned crowbar of yours-" Sweet smacked the iron piece from Venom's grip as Broadside pulled the pathetic creature to his eyes. "She saw you take my girl. Even the damned dog. Now, I'm going to ask one more time before me and Sweet take turns tearin' your ass up piece by piece. **Where. Is. ELOUISE**."


	13. The Boogey Man Case pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Jerico's next case, he is investigating a series of vampire murders linked to the disappearances of several humans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter involves mentions of rape. It also has detailed descriptions of torture(fantasy but torture all the same) If you are squeamish or unsettled I suggest skipping over this part.

"Good Morning, Sunshine."  
  
Swollen eyes fluttered open upon the eerily cheerful voice, pitch black his only comfort as his surroundings slowly came into focus. His arms and legs were bound in irons, welded onto an icy operating table that hadn't seen the light of day it seemed since its creation. It was in the center of what he only assumed was either a warehouse or some commoner's clinic's storage room. A singular droplet of murky, lukewarm water slipped from a lengthy crack which spanned a pipe which coiled throughout the ceiling as veins. What stood out most in this dizzying blur of numbed pain and confusion was a series of patterns upon the ceiling, metal tiles which formed a circular pattern almost like the closed lens of a kaleidoscope at varying portions of his body. As his senses finally cleared, horror gripped at his parched throat, forcing air to struggle and yet refuse to leave the atmosphere.   
  
He was nude.   
  
"Wh...where am I?!"  
  
A small silhouette maneuvered through the darkness with a soft limp, pearl white fangs formed a fractured, fangy grin as the middle-aged man thrashed his pot-bellied body violently, struggling to reshape his bones but a broiling burn overcame his wrists and ankles. "No turning into a bat I'm afraid. The irons have been blessed and soaked in holy water. Not even an elder can worm their way out of those."  
  
"Y-you're a hunter? Listen if you need money we can talk!"  
  
The shadow clicked his tongue in a disappointed tone, carting out a large dry erase board with seven pictures taped to it. Every photo held the image of a human being, of varying ages and races at one point alive, pointed at eye level with the trapped vampire by the table side. "Maria. Sophia. Quintelle. Rebecca. Esmerelda. Jonas. Bobby."  
"Is that supposed to mean something, low-class filth?!" The man spat into the darkness, the filmy glob not even coming close to its target as it plopped with a sickening echo onto the wet concrete floor. "I can smell you now, rat, now that you're close to me. Release me!"  
  
"Ah ah ahhhh." He sang in a dark tone, not unlike a distorted music box which chimed without a single turn of the gears and gripped its claws into the mind with its suggestions. He sharply pulled the lever, a metal jolt rung heavily in the tiles above. A singular section began to recede into itself, opening slowly while forming a small hole, no more than the size of a marker's head. Piercing light of morning slipped past the metal, focusing as a pinpoint upon the man's fatty thigh. In a burning, searing moment the small portion of skin began to blister, sizzling with the musky stench of wet, rotting carcass. The man screamed in pain, at last, his aged voice a burst of primal, pathetic agony. Almost like a boar as it was pierced upon a spike for slaughter. As a hot poker, the ray ripped through to the muscle, making the man thrash violently once more.   
The silhouette pulled the lever back, closing tile and metal. Whimpering wracked his prey's frame, but it only made fiery waves churn deep inside his stomach all the more, lava threatened to gush past his grit fangs yet he kept his wits. "Maria. Sophia. Quintelle. Rebecca. Esmerelda. Jonas. Bobby.  
"  
"Wh...what do you want?" He managed weakly, tears now falling from the once cracked corners of his eyes, "It's money, right? I have plenty just go into my bag and-AHHHH!" That familiar primal scream burst near violently through blood stained fangs as, in the midst of his begging, the lever was pulled once more. A slightly larger hole, now with the circumference of a ping pong ball, and now baring its hideous ferocity into his shoulder. The silhouette watched, crooning his head over the table side while mindful of the ray as it began to char to the bone of the vampire. When the man's eyes began to roll, the shadow daintily took a syringe from his collection by the table, forcing the silver needle through the aristocratic skin. As he pushed the icy fluid into near dead veins, the man's body tensed with life once more.  
  
"Young blood. Can't go and use Adrenalin on a dead heart now can we?" He tossed the syringe away, a dull clank against the concrete as he kept to his inky black shadows while circling the operating table as a vulture poised for the final strike. Even so much more like the bird, he crooned his head to the side, the twisted grin never once feigning from his vague, shadowy features. "You honestly think that money will save you? Your life is in MY hands, and you have the gall to actually offer me money?"  
  
"Pl...please. No more..."  
  
In that instant, the smile evaporated. "How many times did they cry that? Hm?" He slammed a bony, pale fist into the iron only an inch shy of the now searing shoulder which still yet bore a small trail of smoke from its boiling torture, "Or couldn't you hear them? Perhaps you were too busy playing with your food, Lawrence."  
  
The man's features paled all the more, horror flooding filmy white eyes as he in vain stared into the blackness, "...who are you?"  
  
"Lawrence Bartholomew Travis. Biologically 45, chronologically you're as old as prohibition. Caucasian, English although I fail to see any trace of that in you."  
  
"Just...just kill me." Lawrence began to tremble, "That's what this is about, right? Rank? Killing me won't make you more than just a Psy-" Pain gripped his throat as a blade, the tip of a sword sank into the tender skin around the ashy ring of dead flesh. Snarling as a rabid beast contemplating his prey, he began to twist the blade and ceasing only when Lawrence resumed his wailing.  
  
"Maria."  
  
"Who the hell-"  
  
"Sophia."  
  
"-Why-!"  
  
"Quintelle."  
  
"-Stop saying those-"  
  
"Rebecca."  
  
"-Stop it!"  
  
"Jonas."  
  
" **STOP**!!!"  
  
"BOBBY!!!" The shadow's shrill British tone screamed right against the wrinkled ear of the vampire strapped to the table, "Those were their _names_ you bloody son of a bitch. Those are the names of the human beings you bought. Raped. Tortured. And **killed**."  
  
"I-I couldn't help it-!"  
  
Another sharp twist of the blade, "-because you're a _vampire_ , yes? Because you were hungry and oh isn't it just so fun for a vampire to 'cut loose'? I expect that much from a juvenile Incubus or Succubus, not from a supposed elite. But then again, that what you all are, yes? Leeches. Vultures. Rapists. Murderers."  
  
"Y...you're no better, Psy." Lawrence attempted to twist his wrist, feeling the burning bring a small amount of blood. If he could just slip one hand free. "I bought them fairly. Without blood, I will die-"  
  
"-so is it American custom to shove your dick into a steak dinner or am I perhaps off base?" His prey attempted to tug his wrist, but he sunk the blade right into his palm to pin him down all the more, earning him another scream. His grin slowly returning, the silhouette made his way back over to the lever, wrapping lithe fingers around it. "I suppose this is goodbye-"  
  
"-WAIT!" Lawrence whimpered, failing to raise his head much more than an inch from the metal table, "Whatever you want just say it! Please! I can't take this much more!"  
  
"Information first." He leaned away from the lever yet his hands kept firm to it, snarling fangs as he leaned closer to the vampire he held captive. "Where did you buy them? Who is your supplier?"   
  
Lawrence began to murmur weakly. The shadow leaned closer to attempt to listen but instead felt a large glob of bloody mucus launched onto his cheek.   
  
"Ahhh, I was afraid you'd do that." With an elegant movement of the hand, the shadow dabbed the spot from his cheek as fingers gripped the lever tight enough to pale his knuckles. "Although I'm generous above all else. I'll free you. However..." The silhouette's twisted grin became even more distorted, the frenzied chime of the music box rose in higher, more shrill tempo as he roughly jerked the lever two notches farther than before. "Allow me to have you feel what _they_ felt."  
  
A pouring beam of sunlight, large enough to encompass an entire portion of the tile, firmly landed itself upon the beast's crotch. The sizzling and searing flesh burst into small flames as Lawrence thrashed, his facial features becoming more feral, attempting to shift into more bat-like characteristics but failing to do so. The shadow slowly slipped back into the inky darkness as the man felt ever inch of inferno consume him even beyond the bone. 


	14. The Boogey Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> artwork of the infamous Boogey Man


	15. The Boogey Man Case pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the disappearances of humans line up with the murders of vampire nobles, Jerico is called to the case.

"FUCKING. VAMPIRES."  
  
Jerico flinched as Perchella rammed her fist into her mahogany desk, his tail swayed in time with sharp steps that chimed as her stilettos tapped in sharp paces on the marble floors. The phone hung crossways along the receiver, nearly cracking from the pressure of her anger. Edwin poured her a goblet of burgundy liquid, offering a chalice to Jerico. The troll gently shook his hands, murmuring a 'no thank you' to the phoenix as he reached her the glass, signing once those glowing crimson eyes caught sight of him through her rampage, 'Ma'am?'  
  
Tried to contact the major families left in D.C. and what happens? Those damned aristocratic assholes had the gall to hang up on me! Those arrogant, yuppie, selfish-!"  
"Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my lady," Edwin interjected amidst her pacing, "But attempting to contact the noble families much less anticipate any level of cooperation from them was extremely unlikely to work."  
  
Perchella sighed roughly, combine leather clad fingers through snowy locks, "Yes...yes, I know." She took a swig of the musky wine before placing it back down upon the sterling silver tray, "Thank you, Edwin. That will be all."  
  
"Shall I inform Master Luca that he is to stay in the apartment for the time being?"  
  
"Until I calm down and we get this mess sorted, yes."  
  
Edwin bowed, turning with a crisp motion as he, in long strides, stepped through the shadows and into the doorway.  
  
'We're on our own on this, aren't we, ma'am?'  
  
"Yes. As always." Perchella nearly grunted in a mildly unrefined breath as, with hips which swayed as a bell, maneuvered to operate the projector which was mounted upon her desk. The soft darkness shifted as the first slide came to light, "Lawrence Travis. Do you recognize him, Jerico?"  
  
The troll paled for a moment, the still frame image of the portly middle aged man sparked an uncomfortable prickling sensation upon the base of his thick neck. 'He was the person Alabaster and I stayed with during a trial case in my internship, yes?'  
  
"The one that treated you like trash and Alabaster told to fuck off, yes." She changed the photo, upon first sight Jerico had to look away. A mangled corpse near decayed save for molten flesh and a shy bone from navel to knee, eyes gouged out from the socket and dangling past his cheeks, and perhaps what crawled beneath Jerico's thick hide most was the haughty, crazed smile that rests upon his rotting features. As if relieved to be finally free of his torment. "I ran his trail this morning. He had multiple counts of child molestation, rape, sodomy, various counts of torture, and unlawful involvement with the Sanguine/Human Trafficking Ring."  
  
Jerico released a soft breath as she changed the slides, this time showing seven photographs of various humans. 'His victims, ma'am?'  
  
"The seven he had purchased as of December." She took another swig of wine, "Maria Rodriguez, Sophia Lopez, Esmerelda DeLarosa, Quintelle Freeman, Rebecca Pierce, Jonas Hao, and Robert 'Bobby' Versailles. All of them were either undocumented immigrants or foster children who ran away. They're often kidnapped...sold like damned cattle-"  
  
"M-ma-a'am-m."  
  
His soft tone only highlighted the trembling that weaved its path from shoulder to fingertips until her voice, not unlike the solemn wind that whispered its mourning over the mangled corpses that decked out a battlefield, pieced words together again. "Right." She took deep breaths, leaning over to pluck cigarettes from the bottom shelf of her desk and planting one firm between porcelain teeth and ruby lips. Nicotine paved a path deep into her throat before she allowed it to soothe her wrought nerves. "Lawrence is the 15th member of one of the Sanguine major families to be killed in the past 3 years. They pay a heavy price to the authorities to keep it quiet and to prevent their involvement. But, they had one oversight."   
  
'And that was?'  
  
"One of the victims, DeLarosa, was involved in an intimate relationship with one my Reapers stationed in D.C. I couldn't allow them to work the case, of course, and had them dismissed for grieving. DeLarosa managed to contact us as she was taken."  
  
'Do we know who's been doing this, ma'am?'  
  
"For once, we actually do." The slide changed again, this time bearing the image of a lithe man, small in stature with wild ginger hair which frayed to mid back and that flooded over his eyes. His face was youthful in shape, with sharply upturned ears and a constellation of freckles on icy pale skin. "Dr. Roswell Swinburne. Age 25 biologically, but he is well into his thirties chronologically. He has several doctorates, masters, and only one bachelor's degree from what I understand. Birth country: England, he is 4'10 and 98 pounds."  
  
He tilted his head, forming words with his hands once more as he kept his template of notes open on his lap, 'A sanguine, ma'am?'  
  
"Psy." Perchella hopped upon her desk, sitting as she crossed shapely legs and took another smoke, "I know Alabaster mentioned vampires in passing. We've only a small window before he attacks again or goes on another hiatus, so I'll give you the basics." Jerico got his pen ready, adjusting his glasses to focus better in the soft darkness so his writing would be legible this time. "There are four ranks of Vampire but the two pertinent to your mission are the Sanguines and the Psy. Sanguines, as you know, hold the most political power and wealth. Psy are few in number and hold arguably the least political power than others of their breed. Sanguine feed off of blood, and Psy off of aura."  
Jerico scribbled it down, closing his notebook before standing, 'My mission, ma'am?'  
  
"Your mission is to retrieve Dr. Swinburne and bring him to me. Alive and fully cognitive."   
  
'Understood.'  
  
"And Jerico, I must tell you one more thing."  
  
  
*  *  *  *

Twelve minutes in and he breaks the coffee pot.  
  
It wasn't like he couldn't replace the thing. It was a reliable yet cheap coffee pot that belonged to an older model maker aged to an off white and that lay in place on the desk. All the troll wanted was a cup of hot chocolate. He had his Peanuts Woodstock mug with a psychedelic tye dye pattern and a chip on the rim ready with two dried packets of cocoa mix that now lay waiting for water that wouldn't come. He sighed, easing each shard of the collapsed, warped glass into the bin.   
  
Twelve minutes was a damned record, even for him.   
  
"You sure you're not cut?" Clarence called out from the stereo of the troll's laptop which sat perched atop his newest book. His fan did have a tendency to overheat without propping it up on something. "I know ya got that hide, but that was a big crash, mate."  
  
"I-I'm-m t-tough-gher-r th-than-n th-that-t."  
  
"...you cried during that part of The Hunchback of Notre Dame where Quazimoto gets his heart broken."  
  
Jerico turned a light shade of pink, "I-I on-nly-y t-tear-red-d u-up-p a-a l-litt-ttle-e. Y-you-u c-crie-ed wh-when-n M-Moa-an-na's m-mam-maw-w d-died-d."  
  
"Yes, yes I did."  
  
Now clad in lounge pants and a simple tee shirt, the troll climbed onto the decently made bed and sitting Indian style while adjusting his laptop to better see Clarence through the webcam. "H-how-w h-has-s i-it b-been-n th-there-re?"  
  
"Not too bad." The dragon shrugged, "Couple of the guys'll still fight me. A few of 'em started making fun so I just punched them."  
  
"A-an-ny-y m-more-re th-threat-ts-s?"  
  
"From who, Venom? Nah, dude won't even come near the gym now. The only thing I got was from some hatchling brat who told me he'd off me. All I had to do was tell 'im that I was the War Prince and he backed the fuck off."  
  
"W-well-ll th-that-t's-s o-one-e w-way-y o-of-f h-hand-dl'ng-g y-your-r p-prob-blem-ms."  
  
"So, you gotta go under cover this time, dissapearyeah?" Clarence took a swig of coffee, "All covert an' shit?"  
  
He nodded, opting to type when hearing the moderately annoying thumping against his room wall. His neighbors were at it again. Either fighting, or he'd rather not know. 'I have to. Perchella sent out two other reapers in past years, budisappearif he wants.'  
  
"Like turn invisible or?"  
  
'Not exactly. More like with his intelligence and resources. He can hide in plain sight."  
  
"Ohhhh gotcha. So how you gonna get close to this guy?"  
  
'Well, I can't just waltz in and make friends like we did."  
  
He tilted his head, the dragon planted his mug aside before shifting from laying on his back to laying his laptop across his knees. "Why not?"  
  
'He isn't exactly built for combat like we are.' Jerico pondered for a moment, pushing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose to better piece together words amidst blaring computer screen light, 'Think of it like this. We are more like Vegeta and Goku. This person is more like L from Death Note.'  
  
"OHHHHH." Clarence brightened, "You finally got around to watching that?"  
  
'Off and on. Although after L dies it's not really enjoyable to watch.'  
  
"I hear ya. Honestly, I'm more of a fightin' anime kinda bloke but the music kicks ass."  
  
'Characters like Light always annoy me.' Jerico flinched, glancing down to see a tiny shard of glass that managed to weave its way beneath his thick fingernail. Biting the inside of his cheek, he carefully used the tips of his long fingers to grasp the splinter, failing to pull it free a time or two before relief flooded now tingling senses. 'I never liked lead characters who think they're better than everyone else.'  
  
"Eh I like more fun characters myself. No reason to be so serious all the time, y'know."  
  
The troll reclined against the oak wood headboard, his jaw ticked as the thumping against drywall grew louder and more sporadic. It took a great deal of effort to curb his senses, to not allow his acutely gifted ears to peer through support beam and wallpaper to invade the space of the two faceless, nameless masses of sound and agitation that continued to rattle at his nerves. 'From what I've researched about him, he runs a clinic somewhere in the city. Hopefully, I'll be able to get a hold of him tomorrow or something.'  
  
"Maybe you could pretend to be sick?"  
'Trolls have a strong immune system, so he wouldn't buy it.' The troll tapped his fingertips on his knee, jolting when drumming over the very portion that once held the shard of glass. His tail swayed, pressing the headboard but quickly retracted when vibrations from the wall rattled through to the hide. 'I'll have to think of something.'  
  
"Eh don't worry 'bout it, mate." Clarence crooned his head better to watch the coffee pot. "I'm gonna get a refill."  
  
"O-ok-kay-y. M-mak-ke s-sure-re y-you-u g-get-t s-some-me sl-sleep-p."  
  
"You too."  
  
Jerico turned off his webcam, scrolling through his case file. He opened one of the links Edwin sent, one item of which was a list of 'at risk' vampires. All Sanguines, all upper-class old money participants in the Sanguine/Human Trafficking Ring. He clicked on each name, grinding near feral teeth while a sickening wave churned deep within his stomach. It was a familiar lukewarm current, a near ancient frothing of a gnarled and distilled ocean that wracked his senses any time subjects like this came about. In an attempt to avoid having to meet with those tar ugly sensations, the troll clicked instead on a link to a Vampire blog. The articles, the overwhelming majority of the piece in text speak and clearly transcribed by a writer who hadn't known pen and paper but lived off of thumbnails and touch screen, christened him as 'The Boogeyman.' Granted it was difficult even more so to read through the 2000's style gothic set up of the blog site, with a piercing, abrasive crimson background and blaring black for text with a lacy trim. The Boogeyman? Rather uncreative in terms of an alias for a killer of killers. But perhaps it was good the name become so bland and generic as The Boogeyman. Anything more enthralling would inspire, draw some hapless innocent Sanguine if there ever was such a thing into a forest of web bathed in shadow. Much to Jerico's relief, the blogger had no knowledge of the doctor's identity, nor did they seem to hold any particular interest in uncovering it outside of Instagram likes and trying to revive a long dead era of tabloid and rumor. Although what caught his eye was the fact that the site bore a list, both of the elites that were murdered within the last year but also of those the writer believed were at risk. He opened another tab, searching between stylized gothic of the blog site and more traditional text of Edwin's file and finding they sank up fairly well. A name highlighted in a vibrant, almost humming pink pricked his eye. Seeing that it matched the list, the troll opened up her file. Antoinette Cherouge Beafoux, American alias Andi Beaux. Of course, her Instagram was bursting at the seams with oddly well-rendered photos, each at the perfect angle and lighting for a creature of her visage. A pale woman with icy blonde hair and almost blinding blue eyes that were glassy, not unlike an antique doll bathed in a cobweb. Her features were distorted, hyper stylized by layers of cosmetics that only made her translucent skin paler, if it were at all possible, her figure screaming of centuries of corset and padding to achieve the ideal figure. He knew beauty was subjective, he knew his opinion of the woman didn't matter. Granted personally he felt her beauty was more visceral, like beholding a priceless painting rotting away from the inside. He tilted his head, quirking a brow upon the sight of her hands.   
  
She didn't have a wedding ring.  
  
The troll leaned over his bedside, grasping his Stoker's Anthology given to him by Alabaster during his internship and opening it into his lap. Although the disjointed, now grating thumping that rattled his neighboring room only churned the disrupted tides that coiled in his stomach. Leaning over once more he was able to pluck out his large, brilliant yellow headphones and planted them firmly over his elongated ears, entering a quick search for soothing instrumental music, a playlist of windchimes, hell he'd settle for an orchestral arrangement of chainsaws rather than that racket. Clicking a playlist at random, he cranked up the volume to balance instead of rattle and resumed his research. "V-vam-mp-pire-re t-trad-ditions-s....v-vam-mp-pire-re t-trad-ditions-s..." He jolted upon finding the portion in faded silver looseleaf, sliding his glasses down his nose to act as bifocals while reading:  
  
Vampire culture is notoriously patriarchal. Male vampires, particularly the Sanguine sect, are entitled to land, at least a manor before the age of 12, and a bride by age 21. The head of a clan may have as many brides as he chooses. A female vampire is considered as property, the only exception being that she is a widow.   
  
Jerico blinked thrice, allowing his eyes to adjust before he texted her name to Edwin and received a file within minutes. Andi Beaux, age 28 biologically/chronologically 215. Late husband was Count Darius Servantes Beaufoux, murdered early that year by Dr. Swinburne. Both were avid members of the Trafficking Ring. Evidence suggested that Darius used it more for feeding purposes, but Andi held several counts of assault and mutilation before feeding. Particularly of young men ages 15 and younger.   
  
He growled thick in his throat, glancing at the timeline given in his file. His pattern was becoming more frequent, this did make three Sanguine killed in the past two weeks. The troll nearly drowned in the gnashing waves, clinching his fists overtop aged and nearly weathered pages. All he had to do was contact Edwin. The Phoenix could easily plead to the Fate for the location of the next attack. The maelstrom wracked louder and louder, pressing into the softest portion of his skull before a silent numbness took over. Slowly closing his eyes, Jerico closed his laptop, neatly placing it, his books, and his phone atop his nightstand. Slow, eased breaths welcomed a much needed stable air into his lungs before the troll rolled over on his side, and shut off the lamp. 


	16. The Boogey Man Case pt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boogey Man captures another vampire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: has mentions of rape, child abuse, and torture. Please read with this in mind. Thank you.

"...you're the Boogey Man?" Andi scoffed, her speech slurred as the last of whatever compound that was used to thrust her into blackness began to wane. Sensation was the first to rouse, searing irons bore their weight into her neck, wrists, and ankles. How long had she been here? Hours? Days? It was hard to tell in this damp darkness. Her eyes could barely adjust to glance at where she was bound, seeing how the mild burns only reddened her near transluscent skin. A sleeve of her prized Pashmina blouse was apparently removed while she was unconscious, the precision of which nearly impressed her. But what struck a long buried, primal sense of fear was how her prized form was strapped to a chair. Not a simple chair, no. The style of seat which wrought her senses into disarray brought her into the mind of a dentist's chair. Only the cushions were completely ripped off. As icy blue eyes gained clarity, she could barely see a mess of varying medical beds, a makeshift pendilum the blade of which was caked in stagnate blood and holy water, even what looked like an electric chair. It was all an ill clash of crude commoner designs, but with precise medical equipment. "...I imagined you'd at least be taller."  
  
"Stop pretending you're not afraid, quim." Roswell's harsh bite ground past pearlescent fangs, his cheshire grin totally void from his features. In cold calculation he snapped the edges of his off white latex gloves, letting it prick his skin as the sound echoed within metallic walls. It wasn't like he could feel the small bite of the impact anyway, but the sound always helped reassure him that they were on securely. The imprints of her fingers still bore a pinkness to his wrists, the whisper of the final struggle before he, as a spider, managed to subdue his prey and coil them into his web.   
  
"So, did you manage to resuscitate my meal."  
  
He slowly stood, limping as he pulled a tray of tools into the dim light. On the rusting tray rest an array of hardware plires, wire cutters, but what fueled that tiny twinge of near human fear was the sight of the drill. A semi-advanced dental drill, with a diamond bit doused in a sickeningly sweet substance. It almost smelled of holy water, but less distilled. Why did it burn her senses? "I made his last moments comfortable." Just overhead, she could hear the skeletal creature pin a piece of paper on clothes pins just overhead. How odd she didn't even notice the small clothes line that hung at an angle where she would be able to see whatever he had pinned there without straining.   
"Well...I made his last day more fun."  
  
"You purchased, raped, and drained a 14 year old boy of half his blood." Roswell growled, the regalness of his tone slipped into ferocity as he maneuvered around the chair. "He had a name, you know."  
  
Andi laughed, a wicked spritely wisp of breath that wrought through blood stained fangs. "Now now, we both know men can't be raped-!" An icy, rough clash nearly sent her canines into her delicate tongue with teh force of what she could only describe as plated metal collided with her right cheek. Pain. She hadn't felt pain in years, not since being married. Not since being turned. Having gone without the sensation for so long, the prickling sting sunk into her nerves and ignited them. "He enjoyed it-!" Another harsh crack, this time to her left cheek. She laughed even harder, more shrill at how sentimental this creature was. He wreaked of low class Psy blood, of human aura, or humanity. Her life was to be ended by a worm? "Aw what's wrong, Boogey Man? Are you jealous-?" Another rough strike. Once to her jaw, another just above her eye. And another. And another. Each swing grew more furious, more violent, the simmering pain far too much for her delicate senses, "S-stop hitting me! I'm a woman you-!!!"  
  
Her chair jerked roughly, reclining her into a far too familiar position while medical lights cinged her retinas. Andi panted, whimpering as fear finally nestled into her decaying heart. Through squinted eyes she just couldn't see through the blazing fleurescence, her executioner remained veiled both in shadow and in this abrasive light. Roswell crooned his head down against her softly pointed ear, "Zander Julios. A 14 year old child."  
  
"Pl...please..."  
  
"Rape knows no gender." He chuckled darkly as he slowly lifted himself from her ear, limping over to the other side of the chair. "I don't right care what you identify as. What genitalia you have. None of it." An IV filled to the brim with young blood was carted to her side, small clumsy hands pressed into her arm in search for a vein. "You forced yourself on a child. You fed on a child. You. Killed. A. Child." Almost casually, pressed his fingers down harder on her skin, crooning to better see her blackened veins, "Ah, here we are." Andi's body jerked as the needle invaded her vein, forcing ripe blood into her quivering body. "I daresay, love, you chose this."  
  
"I-I'll do anything!" Her lashes grew heavy with tears as he pried her jaw open, using stainless steel hinges to keep her mouth wide and vilnerable. A few quick screws, and she was fastened to the chair, now able to clearly see the portrait that dangled just before her vision. As he ever so briskly picked up the drill, she attempted to thrash her form, feeling the bones deep beneath frail skin attempt to contort but behind held from doing so. She tried to form words, but the metal vice kept anything sensible from escaping past primal mutterings.   
  
The drill started, its rabid humming only made her frame tremble even more, almost loosening the bolts.   
  
Almost.  
  
"Brings back memories, doesn't it? Roswell's fractured grin began to outshine the spotlight which burned into her eyes, "April 2nd 1910. Anesthesia wasn't quite so popular then, was it, love? Do you want to know something hilarious?" He perched his small frame on an oversized office seat, feeling her body jolt from his palm laying casuall on her shoulder while holding the drill in hand. "Children weren't given anesthetic during surgeries until later years because it was believed that they weren't able to feel pain as an adult would. Come to find out, a child's sense of touch is much more sensitive than an adults. Many of them died of shock." The drill slowly entered the heated cavity of her mouth, the vibration of the drill caressed the air just above a perectly healthy tooth. "Just like Zander. And Carlton. And J.J. And Matthew. And Juan. Right?" As the drill lowered into the delicate nerves of her tooth, the whirring of the drill became lost with her screams as conflicting sounds bounced within the metal walls.


	17. The Boogey Man Case pt 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerico finally manages to encounter the Boogey Man. PLEASE forgive me for my spelling errors this makes attempt number 3 today just trying to get this chapter up without it crashing.

A loud grunt burst past Jerico's tusks as he pressed the thin pillow against his ears, trying to siphon off the shrill bickering that burst from next door. Two hours. They had been fighting like this for two damned hours, unintelligable cursing and profanity gushed throguh dry wall and flooded his dreams enough to wake him. It was an argument so abrasive he almost missed the thumping. Almost. His eyes burned from being unjustly woken before dipping into REM sleep while straining to adjust to the unfamiliar blackness of his room, muscles tensed as another muffled scream of rage rattled even the ivory lamp on his bedside. Boiling, the troll sat up in bed, tossing his pillow against the head board. "SH-SHUT-T U-UP!!! F-FOR-R TH-THE L-LOVE-VE O-OF-F G-GOD-D SH-SHUT! UP!!!"

Silence settled after his booming roar, only the thundering pace of his heart pumped between twitching, heated ears. A muffled clapping softly echoed from the room ajacent to his, as if he'd spoken the words they had wanted to all along but were too afraid, the affirmation of which pierced through his feral state and resumed the bashful tint of pink to his cheeks. Normally he would be much more passive, not even utter a sound after a marathon of frail, shallow sleep and jet lag.

But they woke him up from that dream again.

Dizzy now as the rolling boil that once consumed him subsisded into a more temperate and placid state, he reached for his glasses first and foremost, sliding them on the bridge of his strong nose with trembling fingertips before aiming for his cell phone. As always the unnatural light singed the coal blacks of his eyes, bringing a soft groan of exhaustion and mild pain before struggling to focus on the message left behind. One message from Clarence, a string of memes from Crimson, two messages from Luca, and a call request from Perchella. Knots began to coil deep inside his stomach, unease rocked steadily just before he typed in her number only having to wait three rings before she picked up. "M-ma'a-a'am-m?"

"Oh good, I was worried for a moment." Perchella's voice was calm. Not the eased, languid calm that the troll had become accustomed to, the calm that lofted with airs of aristocracy that was well earned. No, this was more of a buisness calm, a repression of emotion that he knew was nessesary for a job like this.

"I-I'm-m s-sorr-rry, ma-a-a'am-m."

"No none of that." He could hear Edwin pouring her a glass of either wine or scotch. A little odd for this early in the morning, even with the time difference. "You're fine. I hope you found your room well?"

A low, somewhat embarassed sigh as the troll's eyes shifted, the heat in his face now bringing more of a brilliant red tone which thankfully was guised in the shadows. "W-well-ll en-nough-gh."

"Good, good." She took a sip, a soft smacking of her lips gently brushed the reciever before a light click from setting her class on the desk replaced the noise, "Do you have a plan for approaching Dr. Roswell?"

"A-a b-bit-t o-of-f o-one-ne."

"You do have a history of going off the seam of your pants and succeeding." Cheerfulness, at least somewhat genuine given the circumstances, hightened her pitch only a single decimal. But it was enough for Jerico to smile. "All I suggest is not taking a direct approach. The last reaper I sent after him, he incompacitated him and we lost track of him for a solid year."

"I-I th-though-ght-t h-he w-was-sn-n't-t a-apt-t in-n f-fight-ting-g."

"He's more of a stratigist, Jerico. The reaper I sent wasn't exactly as approachable as you are. He went in guns blazing, turns out our doctor had been prepared for someone to corner him at that time."

"H-how-w's-s th-that-t?"

"My last reaper made the mistake of visiting the crime scenes and interviewing the vampire families." She sighed softly, a whisper of hair rattled against the phone. She must have been brushing the thick, luxurious mass with her fingers again. "He's rather...maticulous about it."

There went option number one. "I-I'll-ll w-work-k w-with-th i-it-t m-ma'a-am-m."

"That's good to hear. Oh and Jerico?"

"M-ma-a'am-m?"

"Promise me you won't go on that vampire blog for the rest of the day, at least until we can get Edwin to scan it."

He sat up a little more, attempting to open his computer as quietly as he could while speaking with her, "A-any-ny r-reas-son-n?"

"I've had reports of the doctor hacking into it and tracking the vampires who visit the site down by their information. The last thing I want is for him to do that to you."

Jerico's finger hovered over the mouse pad, the flickering arrow right overtop the previously visited button. He entertained the idea for a moment, and only a moment of doubt, but resigned himself to pressing delete history instead. "Th-thank-k y-you-u m-ma'a-am-m."

"We'll send you whatever information you need, just let us know. I don't want to rush your work, Jerico, but Dr. Roswell has a tendency of sniffing out my reapers the longer they're in his territory."

"...v-vam-mpire-re p-pow-wers-s?"

"More like inept Facebook posts and common sense." She chuckled softly, "I'll send you the address to his clinic."

"Th-thank-k y-you-u."

"And Jerico."

"M-ma-a'am-m?"

"Call. Me. Hel. Perchella. Anything but Ma'am, it makes me feel old."

"B-but-t y-you-u're-re-"

"-don't finish that sentence."

"Y-yes-s m-ma'am." Her comedic groans of frustration brought a laugh from the troll as he stepped out of his bed, a touch wobbly from insufficient sleep and a softly thumping headache that crept between his temples.

"Gods you'll be the end of me. Anyway, call or text me when you've made contact."

"I-I w-will-ll." As she hung up, Jerico scrolled through his texts, opting for Clarence's since his had been the earliest made. 'Good morning, Clarence.'

'Hey mate' Thankfully Clarence didn't take long to reply. Unless he was in the middle of a game, then it would be a matter of hours or even days before he got a response. 'Jeraldine's out of the hospital. She's on bedrest though'

'That's great.' He smiled, stepping into the bathroom and bracing himself before flipping on the light. The troll winced, adjusting much quicker than before, 'Do you think she'll listen?'

'Hell no. Already on crutches and came back to the gym. Georgina still running it tho till she's better.'

'Just make sure she doesn't hurt herself.'

'K. So, how's the case?'

'It's going. I can't go on that blog site since he's been known to hack it.'

'Want me to try it?'

'No, I don't want him coming after you. Apparently he comes prepared.'

'I'm a dragon, mate. Not much to take me down.'

'I still don't want to risk it. Okay?'

'Alright. Since this guy's a braniac just be careful.'

'I will. Oh how was the movie?'

'Not too bad. Kinda fun.'

'That's good. I'll go with you guys next time.' He knelt before the shower tub combo, tilting his head at teh strange set of nobs. More a series of indistinguishable levers that had neither hot nor cold setting, and a faux crystaline handle whose lack of tint confused him even more. 'Heading to the shower. I'll message later.'

'K.'

He tilted the nob left, waiting for a few minutes for it to warm up while scrolling through the various memes sent by Crimson. The troll laughed at a few of them, sending her a thumbs up and a smiley face before checking Luca's messages.

'Hi Jerico! When will you be back to Stolkholm? Me and Mama J miss you.'

Jerico smiled, reaching into the water to test its warmth while using his other hand to text back, 'I'll be back as soon as I can to visit. Be good.' He set his phone on the sink once the water reached a decent warmth, grasping the collar of his shirt from the back and pulling it from his taunt frame. Thankfully he remembered to leave his toiletries in the shower once he got here, usually he had to rummage for them for a good few minutes. After shedding his lounge pants and setting his glasses by his phone, he stepped into the tepid waters, his body giving a mass shiver that sprinted from the edge of his spine just below his skull to the tip of his tail. Not as warm as he thought, but his body would adjust soon enough. The cool water settled unto his skin, taking a few moments to completely soak through his thick locks and weighing them to settle over his eyes and neck. Maybe Clarence was on to something about him favoring a sheep dog. He pressed a decent amount of shampoo on his open palm, massaging his scalp as if to stimulate any thoughts that perchance may bubble. "H-how-w d-do-o I-I g-get-t m-mys-self-f in-n th-these-se sit-tua-at-tions-s?" A lofty sigh barreled though his broad chest, running lathered calloused hands along each scar, every taunt inch of sinew and flesh until reaching the three nickle sized portions of pinkened skin. As his fingertips ghost over them, a small tremor nestled in the muscle, a phantom bite that he knew wasn't there anymore but the crisp invasive rush of air and metalic singe remained. Running his rough palm over his right arm, he felt the familiar rising of tissue, deep lasserations formed into a haphazard lopsided cross that spanned from forearm to the cusp of the back of his hand. The white noise of running water drowned out each ice shard that pressed into his hide, blackened eyes lingered on every inch. No matter how many creams humans came up with, how many surgeries were offered to him, they remained.

Because he willed them to.

"HOUSEKEEPING!"

The troll jolted, scrambling to grasp a towel to cover himself, only to find its girth lacking. Just his luck, he forgot to bring his clean clothes in!

"Final call! House! Keeping!"

Every inch of dark skin took on the hue of scarlet, he deftly stepped out of the shower while struggling to keep the towel to at least enough coverage to ensure some level of modesty. The moment he stepped to close the bathroom door fully, his ears pricked up at the theatrical gasp just before the threshold. Here he was, a staggering giant dripping wet and carved in muscle and scar, standing before a housekeeper. A modest 30 something, difficult to tell through the drenched veil over his eyes and how blurred his vision was without his glasses, and judging from the rapid beating of her heart the poor woman either had a heart murmur or a mild arythmia.

"I-I...I am s-soooo sorry!"

"N-no I-I'm-m s-sorr-rry-y!"

"I'll um just go on and-!" She scampered out of the room, veiling her face with latex clad hands, letting the hotel room door slam behind her.

Jerico compressed himself, attempting to take up the smallest space as he slowly backed into the bathroom to at least dry off. Well that was mortifying. The poor woman sounded scarred for life. He knew his glimmer, so long as the rhunes in this area remained in tact, would mask his monsterous tusks, elongated ears, and tail. But even under this guise he was still a beast, an intimidating creature by design. With a quick twist of the knob he shut off the shower, trying to dry off his hair first and foremost before even nearing the rest of his frame. Right, how to slip into the doctor's routine without raising suspicion. It wasn't like he could just go up and announce he was a reaper.

Wait.

"Now say ahhhh."

"Ahhhh!"

Roswell chuckled softly, pressing the wooden tool to his patient's tongue, crooning his head to get a better view down her throat. "So far you're fit as a fiddle, Ly'Nette. But be sure to brush those chompers." With a swift flick of the rist, the pale doctor tossed the stick into a ceramic waste bin, "We don't want mean old cavities, do we, duckie?"

Ly'Nette giggled, holding her sides as she leaned against her older sister, "I'm a half orc, Dr. Rosey, not a duck!"

"Ahh, sorry, dear. I keep forgetting." With a slender fingertip, he pressed it to her rounded nose while softly murmuring a soft 'boop', earning him a burst of giggles. "Has she been experiencing growing pains, Ms. Carver?"

"Not as often since her calcium suppliment." Jequetta brushed a few strands of thick, twisted hair behind her ear, "It only happens once a month and nowhere near as bad."

"Brilliant. The growing pains will last for about six more months before her human genetics kick in to balance it out."

"Just so I know...the green tint to her skin is supposed to be normal?" Jequetta shifted the weight of her broad shouldered sibling on her lap.

"Yes, healthy even." Roswell filled out an exit slip, handing it to his patient's elder sister before rummaging through the deep pocket of his lab coat. With a soft twist of the lips, the doctor gave Ly'Nette a caramel apple sucker, fiery locks frayed over the bridge of his slender nose as her deep fushia eyes glimmered at the sight of her treat. She took it, eagerly ripping the plastic casing open. "If her skin appears to have a purple tint, that is more a cause for concern. Orcs are hearty, mixed para are even heartier, but she is still suseptable to many of the health issues Orcs have. Especially dental."

"You did say in a year she'll need 'guiders' right?"

"I would say at least one year, conservitavely speaking. Her tusks stand the risk of developing abcesses if not maintainted properly, in some cases they overgrow and puncture the cheek and lip. There is a specialist about an hour away from here. All you'll have to do is scheduel her first appointment and I will ensure it's covered."

"Thank you." Jequetta sighed deeply, "If you didn't let me know all this I'd be lost. I just got custody of her last week and I want to take as good care of her as possible."

"That's excellent!" Roswell beamed at teh younghalf orc as she hummed, enjoying her candy with a bouncing delight. "Wre you still needing a reccomendation for orthepedic school, Ms. Carver?"

"I've decided to go into prenatal care. Is there any schools I can go to that have any sort of focus on para?"

The doctor hummed, pressing his thumbs together briefly before leaning over his small cart of a desk, scrolling through his laptop and printing off a list. "Most of the courses you will have to take can't go on a manuscript for obvious reasons, but these are a few of the schools I've studied at myself. All of them have plenty of scholorship oppertunities I assure you."

Jequetta's dark eyes scanned down the list, tilting her head at the bright green slip of paper in her worked fingers, "Beijing...Soel...Tokyo...Sydney...the only one of these in North America is Vancover..."

"You've still plenty of time to decide. Right now, I'd focus on that manager position you've had your eye on."

"Psh I wish." Jequetta eased Ly'Nette into the floor, holding her sister's hand while the young half orc nearly matched her in height. "Thank you again, Dr. Swinburne."

"Thank you, Dr. Rosey!"

He chuckled, one ear gave a singular twitch at the jolting chime of his waiting room foor. A walk in on a Tuesday? Odd. It wasn't hog mup or cold season yet. As Jequetta and Ly'Nette gravitated towards the dor, with a modest gravitas Roswell bowed before the two ladies, opening the door. Ly'Nette, ever amused by his theatrics, giggled in passing. He shut the door behind him, peeling off latex gloves with a dull snap and wringing his hands. Much to the doctor's dismay, the vague promise of static tingling sensation that graced his normally apathetic nerves faded into the aether. Again. "Too much to hope for, I suppose." Roswell eyed a small ray of sunlight that peered from the smallest space. As always, the stark black tarp he had pinned against the panneled windows came undone in the smallest portion.

"Docta Swinburne," His secretary knocked on the door, "Ya've gotta walk in."

"Human or para-OH BLOODY HELL!" He scampered over to the tarp, struggling to keep it up with his lacking height.

"Para."

"Species?"

"Troll."

"Breed?"

"...I um dunno, sir. I've neva heard of his kind before."

He quirked a brow beneath thick tufts of ginger locks, turning his head from the tarp for but a moment, "Is he at least insured?"

"Yes."

"Send him in..." His voice began to taper off as the scent of burning flesh waft along his senses, a small wisp of smoke gravitated among dust particles and dimmed light, their origin a singular portion of skin on his arm. Almost casually he turned his head, upon the sight of burning flesh he jolted. "Oh bloody hell not again." Fastening the tarp before rushing over to the small sink, grasping a vile of salve ointment and a roll of gauze. "I knew I should have taken that property downtown. At least it had blines..." Coating his burns in the salve before draping them in gauze, inspecting every portion of skin for severity while the presence of a massive creature gently entered his space, taking a seat. "Good afternoon. Might I have your name?"

"J-Jer-ric-co-o."

Finishing his binds, Roswell slipped into another pair of gloves, letting them snap. "So what brings you here today, Jerico?"

"Ch-check-ck u-up-p."

"Ah." He turned, grabbing his clip board and essentials before making his way to the troll's medical tableside. "If you don't mind, may I have your breed? I realize many trolls have similar biology, but you'd be surprised how the slightest difference in breed can make all the difference."

Jerico rubbed his neck, waiting until the doctors features at least suggested being near his line of vision. The troll couldn't see past those fiery strands over his eyes, which made him somewhat uneasy.

"There's no need to be shy. A stutter is nothing to be ashamed of."

How strange, for a blood thirsty killer of killers his tone was kind. Almost gentle. "C-Can-n y-you-u u-und-ders-stand-d s-sig-gn-n?"

"European and American Sign Languange are specialties of mine."

Jerico released a breath, pushing back the ill sensations that anxiousness wrought. 'I am an Appalachian Mountain Troll.' Roswell's frame gave a jerk, the air now lit with a crisp static between them for long, uncomfortable moments. Shifting in his seat as the tension clawed a path down his back, the troll began to sign once more, 'I understand if this makes treating me an issue, not many people are familiar-'

Mid sign, the doctor sprang to life in a burst of electric excitement, a breath and an inch were all that seperated the two. "...I don't believe it...a genuine specimine! I read your breed went extinct. Brilliant. Bloody Brilliant!" His mind was abuzz, his twisted grin though unhindged held not one ounce of malice or discontent. Paper clammored in a showered fury around them, test tubes and needles clanked as he piled them unto a metal tray by his deks. Noting how Jerico paled, Roswell gave his shoulder a fluttering tap. "No need to worry, my fine sir. If you don't mind I'd like to take a few notes on our interactions here. You must understand this is a once in a lifetime encounter here."

The troll's eyes were wide, unease at such an enthusiasm to his species much less his breed. It was a welcomed change, yet surreal to say the least. 'That's okay with me Dr-'

"-oh no need for formalities. With all the research I intend on doing we'll be on a first name basis. I insist you call me Roswell." The doctor donned his stethascope, presing it to the troll's chest gingerly, "Now take a deep breath." Jerico did as he was told, delighting Roswell before he placed the device's head between the patient's broad, firm shoulder blades, "Once more, if you please." Again, the troll gave him a strong breath. He scribbled his notes in a pleased madness, "Strong lugs, that's a good sign. Now time for that body tempature of yours." He planted the thermometer beneath Jerico's thick tongue and waited for it to beep in response. In less than a minute a chime hummed from the thermometer, "101 degrees. Ideal for a troll past adolescence. Judging by your physicality you should be, in human terms, about mid 20's. Although how old are you chronologically if you don't mind my asking?"

'A little over 1000.'

"A late bloomer I see." Roswell wrote that down in his notes, "No worries, that isn't entierly uncommon for several breeds of troll. Might I see your arm? Just checking for blood pressure among other things."  
With a small hesitation, Jerico offered his arm. Roswell wrapped the sleeve around teh troll's muscular bicep, flipping the switch. The machine whirred loudly, but the doctor continued with his notes, "Tell me, have you had any signs of fatigue? Upset stomach? Any form of pain? How about issues with bowel movements?"

"N-no-o, n-not-t r-reall-lly-y."

"Are you or have you ever been sexually active?"

A squeak tose from Jerico as his dark hide lit up with a bright red tone, only shaking his head modestly while the sleeve's pressure eased off gradually.

Roswell scribbled that into his notes, "Ah, no shame in that. If it helps you're not the only one." He tilted his head, checking his pulse before writing it down, "A good pulse, but a bit high. Are you anxious at the moment?"

"O-one-ne w-word-d f-for-r i-it-t."

"Okay. So far so good. Now I'll need a blood sample. If what I've read of your breed's skin is true, that may present some issue." Roswell picked through his materials, "So what brings you all the way from the mountains to D.C?"

Okay, here we go.

Jerico tried to steady his breathing, looking away as the doctor began to dab a cotton ball moistened with warm water over the soft inside of his arm's bend. Although the sight of Roswell crooning his head down caught his perifereal, "I-is-s ev-very-ythin-thing-g o-oka-kay-y?"

"Yes? Ohhh right, right. Forgive me. My sense of touch isn't the best, so I have to lean in a bit to find a vein." Readying the tubes, the doctor dipped only the tip of his needle with rubbing alchohol. "If I'm correct, this may sting for a moment."

The troll shut his eyes tight, a mild burn belied the sharp prick of an unfamiliar invasion and an even more alien draining feeling of blood leaving his veins. Imagining the deep crimson slipping from tube to tube, stagnate blood warm in the glass...

He grew faint.

He almost slipped into the black before feeling his needle prick its way out as it entered. Jerico's frame tensed, his tail voiled as Roswell pressed a cotton ball to the bleeding portion of skin and taped it down. "There we are...oh...oh dear, you're pale." Roswell launched himself while still in his oversized office chair, opening the door only a crack when landing against the wall with a soft tap, "Ms. Rumrick, I need a cup of orange juice. Possibly a cookie."

"I'll getcha one, sir. I gotta close up afta that, need your patient to rescheduel?"

"No, that's alright. I'll stay later."

"Okay, Docta Swinburne."

The door chimed behind her as she left the main lobby. Roswell eased Jerico with a great deal of effort to sit up, "She'll be back in a moment. Are you feeling nausiated?"  
"J-jus-st-t l-light-t h-head-d-ded-d...."

"Now back to the topic at hand." Roswell pat Jerico's back softly, attempting to prevent the giant from passing out. "What brings you to D.C? Touring?"

"W-wor-rk-k."

"Ah, I see." The doctor leaned over, taking the cup of orange juice and cookie from his assistant once she entered the room, nodding to her silently. She bowed her head in understanding, shutting the door behind her on the way out. "Here, eat and drink."

Jerico bobbed his head, taking a few bites of cookie and downing his cup of orange juice.

"There we go. Now just wait a moment for the sugar to settle in."

The troll leaned back, taking long deep breaths as the sugar paved its way from his pallet to rejuvinated senses. After a moment, he sat up a little more.  
"Feeling better, Jerico?"

"Y-yes-s. Do-o I-I o-owe-we y-you-u f-for-r-"

"-nonsense, no." Roswell waved his hand dismissively, "Now, what job do you have?"

"D-det-tect-t-ve-ve...s-sort-t-t o-of-f."

"Splendid." As the words weaved through his scientific enthusiasm, the title detective nestled within his senses and ignighting. They would hire such a rare breed for such a dangerous position? In a rare state, the doctor was completely unprepared for this. Best to tread lightly. "So, you're a reaper?"

Jerico nodded, innocently finishing his cookie, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before signing, 'I'm having trouble with my current case. But I don't want to worry you about it.'

"Perhaps I can help." Roswell's lithe hand gripped the metalic dragon's head on his walking cane, keeping his wry smile all the while. "Tracking down a criminal?"

'More like a group.'

The doctor quirked a brow, "A group you say?"

Shifting once again in his seat, Jerico's tail began to sway as nervousness and hopefulness did battle in his chest. 'There's been a disturbing amount of humans being murdered. They've all been tied to the Sanguine/Human Trafficing Ring. I'm the only Reaper available to work the case, but I don't know where to start.'

Roswell's frosted blue eyes weaved through strands of flame, peering at the troll's soft black eyes. He could taste the beast's aura, kindness and lonliness pulsated from his massive frame even now. And yet, a thundering presence of something more, something darker fought constantly to rise to the surface.

Something violent.

"Are you familiar with Sanguines? Psy? Incubi/Succubi? What about Ghouls?"

'I've only met one Sanguine. He wasn't very kind to me.'

"Well, one thing I can help you with. You see, I'm a Psy. One of our abilities is a sort of empathy based on aura. Hard not to get a feeling for who you're feeding off of. Among things...I feel rage from you." Jerico's coal eyes glanced away at the brisk tones of the doctor. "You can try to supress it, try to bury it, but you can't. If I am to trust you, I need to know the cause of that rage. It isn't a hatred for us vampires is it?" The doctor shrugged languidly, "If it is, I understand. The lot of us are bastards."

'No that's not it.' The troll's hands began to steady from their mild trembling, his palm began to slide along the risen scars on his right arm. "L-l...let-t's-s j-just-t s-say-y...I-I h-ha-av-ve-ve a-a sp-spec-cial-l h-hat-tre-red-d f-for-or an-ny-yone-ne wh-who-o w-would-d h-hurt-t a-a ch-chil-ld-d."

There it was. There was the burning spark of wrath that weighed heavily in the spaces between them. "...I believe you. Something tells me that this is more of a personal endevor as opposed to an actual case." Before Jerico could respond, Roswell pressed himself to stand, leaning his weight on his walking cane, "How about I strike you a deal." The doctor peeled off his gloves, rolling up his sleeves and pinning them to just above his elbow. Deep pruple bruises in the shape of fingerprints marred his forearms, a series of smaller varied scars and burns decored pale, freckled flesh. "It's no surprise I'm no warrior. And you need a vampire's perspective for this vendetta. If you help me take out the trade in at least D.C, whatever your actual case is I'll help you. You needn't tell me what it is now."

'The research is happening still?'

"Oh yes, reguardless."

Super. "O-ok-kay-y. Th-that-t's-s f-fair-r."

"Brilliant." Roswell carted the tray of blood samples into the back room, placing it in storage, "Well no use opperating on an empty stomach. Does Taco Bell sound good? I'm starved."

'I'm still hungry so yes.'

"I'd imagine. Let me call a cab." Jerico tilted his head as Roswell pulled out an old fashioned early 2000's flip phone. "Oh. Me? Drive? Yeah I'm banned from driving in several states in the U.S. and England."

The troll, dumbfounded, scratched his scalp, "Wh-why-y?"

"It's a long story, I'll explain on the way."


	18. The Boogey Man Case pt 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case continues

Settled comfortably in a nest of pillows, with the plush comforters draped lazily over scar and skin, Jerico's snoring began to rattle the new coffee pot to its very glass. His jaw hung open as he rolled unto his back, the soft rise and fall of his deep chest at a steady tempo. A soft fluttering peppered at the drool painted corner of his mouth, almost like a ball of dry cotton. What an odd moth. Or was it a dream like the one time he'd dreamt of eating a kingdom of marshmallows but woke to only see parts of his pillow missing. Still lingering in the delirium between slumber and reality, the troll's heavy lids only wrinkled at the strange muffled sounds that rippled between his ears as a water whose surface was broken with stone. Almost like a dried pen to paper. It wasn't until the sharp pang of cold metal gently brush just below the soft skin of his underbelly.

Jerico shot up, panting heavily as his senses frayed and blurred, running fingertips over the cool skin where the metal had touched.

"Ah, good morning."

His ink black eyes focused, nearly blinded by the mess of flame which rested in thick lengthy tresses down lithe shoulders. The troll pat around for his glasses, sliding them back on his nose's thick bridge, "H-how-w d-di-id-d y-you-u-?"

"You shouldn't leave your window unlocked at night."

But we're on the third floor. Jerico ran fingers through the length of hair which weighed heavily on his neck, "U-um-m o-oo-ook-kay-y...h-how-w l-long-g h-ha-ave-ve y-you-u...?"

"Four hours, twenty minutes, thirty seven seconds." The doctor placed a swab into a tube capped with bright yellow, planting it gingerly inside his vintage suitcase decked out in aged bumper stickers, many of which from England and Dubai. "I took the liberty of calling room service."

'Thank you.' He ran large palms down the small of his back, popping it while grunting softly.

"Do you do that often?"

"O-onl-ly-y wh-when-n I-I w-wak-ke-ke u-up-p."

Quickly the doctor scribbled into his notes, tucking his nearly abrasively neon red pen behind his pale pointed ear, "Oh by the way, you received a phone call earlier. Flight of the Valkyries is a personal favorite of mine."

"O-oh-h th-that-t's-s P-Perch-chell-lla-a." The moment words slipped past his parched lips, weight thumped deep in his stomach with a crawling heat that singed from the base of his now coiled tail to the tips of his twitching ears.

"Oh, your boss?" Roswell tilted his head with a twisted grin, his pale blue eyes gleamed amidst curiosity and mischief. "No worries, I don't hack into personal information unless it is of interest to me."

While the heat remained on his hide, Jerico shifted his weight upon the comforters, 'Are we gathering information today?'

"Of course, of course." The doctor placed his notebook aside, "I actually have a possible squealer. All we have to do is corner the bloke and put the screws on him as it were."

'Oh my boss sent me a file with the main sanguine offenders. Will that help?'

"I have been treating him for six months now, and I've tracked him for three. But any added information will help." Roswell hopped off the bedside as the door knocked thrice.

Jerico, having remembered the incident earlier the previous morning, slid a tee shirt on his physique before opening the door. Just his luck, it was the very housekeeper the memory of whom's shocked features still yet burned his cheeks.

"Oh God um..." The housekeeper rubbed her neck, "I'm so sorry about earlier. I was sent here to tell you that...our cook's stuck in traffic so it's going to be an hour before your bacon and abs-I MEAN EGGS!" She squeaked loudly, turning a healthy rouge herself, "Y-your bacon and eggs are ready."

"Th-thank-nk y-you-u ma-a'am-m." As he shut the door, the troll turned his head to see Roswell peeking very much like a child from underneath the bed frame.

"Oh? What happened there?"

The Cheshire grin renewed the heat in Jerico's features, giving a defeated sort of sigh, "L-long-g st-stor-ry..."

"Ah, I see." The small vampire crawled out from beneath the queen sized bed, only having to hank a few strands free from having coiled themselves around a mildly loosened screw. "Perhaps we should call Perchella?"

Jerico's very marrow met with a breath of frost. "Y-yes-s."

"Brilliant. You phone's charging by the nightstand. It was low so I took the liberty of plugging it in."

The troll nodded, climbing on the bed and fighting temptation to nestle back into the warmth his sheets offered. Jerico reached over for his phone, typing in Perchella's number all the while feeling the cool shadow of the doctor press to his side. He could barely hear the ringing of his phone from how his heart hammered against his ear drums.

"Ah, there you are. I've been wondering when you'd call." Perchella's voice sounded a fraction more at ease, her chair squeaked softly while the woman reclined, "You mentioned in your text that you made contact?"

His chest began to ache, glancing over to see the sharp pale eyes of the doctor perring right through him with that mildly unsettling Cheshire grin. "Y-yes-s m-ma'a-am-m. D-Doc-ctor-r Sw-win-nb-burn-rne ag-gree-eed t-to h-hel-lp m-me-e w-with-th th-the c-cas-se."

"Oh?" She sat upright in her chair with a sharp sound, her tone loosing its airiness, "Excellent News."

"H-he-e h-has-s in-nfo-form-mat-tion-n ab-bou-out-t a-a p-poss-ssib-ble-le in-nfo-for-rm-mant-t."

Please don't ask me what am I talking about.

Please don't tell him why I'm really here.

Please.

"Dr. Roswell has a informant you say? Jerico...put the phone on speaker."

Oh God why?

With a slow motion, the troll pressed teh speaker button. After a second static his heart began to slow.

"Hello? Am I speaking to the Perchella Whitechapel?" Roswell, manuvering to sit cross legged as he leaned to the mic, spoke with a breathless chuckling tone. "It is a pleasure, madam, a genuine pleasure."

"Dr. Swinburne I assure you the pleasure is mine." She spoke fluidly without a single hitch or stammer. "Your accomplishments in medicine are unmatched."

"Oh you flatter me, madam." He brushed the compliment off, as if it were some mundane fancy before letting his wry tone dip into seriousness, "Now that we've dispenced with pleasantries, I would like to discuss my findings."

"If you prefer."

"I'm certain you already know I've done away with several lower ranking Sanguine Elite. As of last night, I've disposed of Antoinette Beafoux's corpse. I was aunable to save her victim and I take full responsibility for that, madam."

"I sentenced her soul last night. As for the victim, rest assured I know of how you tried-"

"-I've tracked down Theodore Evans." Roswell's brisk tone was so icy it sent a jolt through Jerico, causing the troll to sit up just enough to better see the doctor's pale blues. "He is a Duke among Sanguine. From what I've researched he is our best possible option for attaining information."

"Will his rank cause concern?"

"To my knowlege no. Where he is only a Duke it wouldn't have an immediate reaction."

After a moment, Perchella took a breath, "Jerico, you and Dr.Swinburne report any findings you get about the trade to me. Understood?"

"Y-yes-s ma-a'am-m."

"And Dr.Swinburne, thank you for your assistance."

"No problem at all, madam, but one thing."

"Yes?"

Roswell raked lithe fingers through flame, his voice now completely stark from his usual amused tone. No inkling of mischeif, no spark of enthusiastic light. Only a rural British tone, "If you'd sent any other reaper, we wouldn't be having this conversation." The doctor pressed the speaker button to shut it off, handing it back to Jerico as he rolled off the bed.

Jerico brought the phone back to his ear. "Jerico I want every ounce of information about the ring you can offer me. Names, locations, attainment methods, all of it. Save every human you can. You have my order to kill any ghoul and Sanguine involved."

"Y-yes-s ma'a-am."

"Keep Dr.Roswell in sight at all times. He has a history of putting himself into dangerous situations and nearly coming to my courtroom several times in the past year alone. He must be brought back to me fully cognitive and alive."

"U-un-nder-rs-stood-d."

"Do all that you can, but if you two are at this for longer than a few days the Sanguine Elite will whine to the Draconic High Council and accuse us of interference. The last thing I want is to deal with those blundering idiots politics."

"Th-the-e S-Sang-guine-nes-s o-or-r th-the-e D-Drag-gon-ns?"

"Both." She grunted softly, "Keep me posted, and be safe."

"I-I w-will-ll." When she hung up the phone, Jerico leaned into his mound of pillows with a deep inhilation.

"...a lovely woman." The doctor's spirits lifted to an almost unnatural perk, "I can see why you respect her so much."

Turning his head to the side, the troll noted every movement of the small ginger vampire. How he held his near skeletal frame with lenghty strides despite his small stature, how his head seemed only a touch too large due to the thickness of his flaming hair, but perhaps most of all the modest slump of his shoulders. He recognized the slump since he sported it many times himself, shoulder waned from baring weight unseen for too long before fracturing either the body or the mind fueled predominately by a lack of sleep. 'Do all vampires have royal titles?'

"Sanguine Elite do." Roswell moved his hands in animation as he spoke, "It's an arbitrary token, really." He began to pace, limping with a soft bob while doing so beneath the veiled afternoon light that basked the entire three star hotel room in a ruddish tint.

'Forgive me for being ignorant about vampires, but wouldn't it be much simpler if Sanguines drink animal blood?' Jerico began to sit up, scratching his scalp quickly before forming words with his large hands, 'Unless it has to be humans. There are blood banks and other ways to get blood. Why go through all the trouble?'

"Sanguines are hedonistic, nihlistic parasites." Every spark of glee evaporated once more from the doctor, his voice sharpened as a violin wire wound a hair too tight just before splintering, the sharp contrast in tone rough to the trolls ears. "Sure, there are decent Sanguines. Only simple minded idiots truly believe that one group of people can yeild no positive people out of it despite the crimes their kind had done. But from what I've seen...every single Sanguine who tries to speak out, to change...they are executed. Assasinated. Or even worse for the females they are silenced and forced into arranged marraiges just to secure more power. And believe me, you don't want to know what they've tried to do to Psy and Succubi." His strides became more lengthy before his knee buckled, causing the doctor to lean against the wall just beside Jerico's bed, casting his sunken eyes down. Small fists clinched, elongated nails slowly burrying themselves within the pale skin beneath. And yet, he didn't flinch. "Sanguines don't have to drink human blood. They choose to. They choose to blindly follow their instincts. They choose to be so far up their asses they treat anyone who isn't in their inner circle like cattle. They choose to bring pain to humans so it seasons the blood. And because of their choices..."

"R-Ros-swell-ll?"

Jerico's soft voice breached the doctor's ear. Only now had he noticed how loud his voice had become, how his breath grew more shallow. Spotting a few droplets of crimson on the cusps of his sleeves, the doctor looked down only to see the damage done to his hands. "Oh bloody hell."

"H-hang-g o-on-n." Jerico rolled off of his the bedside, rummaging through his duffle bag. "D-Does-s th-that-t h-happ-ppen-n of-ften-n?"

"Only when I'm distracted. So...often."

Jerico pulled himself back up, taking teh doctor's hands with a creat deal of care to assess the damage before balancing a small bottle in his palm, "Th-this-s m-may-y st-sting-g."

"Trust me, it won't."

The troll sprayed the tiny bottle of anticeptic, flinching as the excess droplets ran down his fingertips.

"Really, you don't have to do that."

"I-it-t'll-ll g-get-t inf-fec-cted-d." After the mist faded into the cuts, the troll wrapped the slim strip of cut skin with gauze.

"Honestly they're only cuts. I've done worse."

"St-till-ll."

Roswell wiggled his fingers once his binds were in place, running a thumb along the rough cloth. He could see every fiber, every inch of blistering sterile white, every fray of fabric. And yet he couldn't feel it, only a feigned numbness that laid thick on his senses.

"D-does-s i-it-t h-hurt-t?"

"No." The doctor sighed heavily, "Thank you for your concern."

"S-so-o..." Jerico smiled warmly, ruffling his fiery head of hair before making his way back to the bed to grab his book that lay just beneath his laptop.

"To Set a Watchman?" Roswell leaned to get a better view of the book, running his fingers down the paperback spine. "Tell me, are you a fan of Atticus Finch?"

The troll nodded, "H-he-e's-s m-my f-fav-vor-rite-te ch-char-ract-ter. G-Guy-y M-Mont-tag-g i-is a-a cl-clos-se s-sec-cond-d."

"I'm going to save you a few hours of heartache. His character is ruined."

"H-how-w s-so?"

"He becomes a blatant racist and attends a KKK meeting."

Jerico's hands paused in the middle of opening his laptop, coal black eyes now wide beneath his prized namesake glasses. "A-are-re y-you-u s-ser-riou-ous?!"

"Unfortunately."

After holding the paperback novel who still bore a Wal-Mart sticker over part of the title that had yet to be unhindered for a few moments, Jerico calmly rose off of the bed and dropped it into the metal trash bin with a rough thump.

"I could tell you're a fan of Atticus Finch."

"Th-the-e gl-glass-sses?"

"Not exactly." As Jerico resumed opening his laptop, the doctor plopped back on the edge of the bed somewhat lazily, "I can tell what sort of character a person will identify with. It's a bit of a hobby of mine. You see, where Psy feed off of aura we are somewhat empathetic. I like to match a person with a character to see how close I can get. I get a very Atticus Finch vibe from you, either that or Clark Kent."

"I-I'm-m n-not-t th-the b-bigg-gges-st f-fan-n o-of S-Sup-per-rm-m-an-n."

"...you watched the Zack Snyder abominations, didn't you?"

Jerico turned the laptop on, waiting until the screen came to light before typing in his password, "Y-yes-s."

"Give the comics a try. He's actually a more positive and optimistic character."

'I guess so.' He signed, shifting so Roswell could have a better view of the screen. 'The only comics I've read so far were Calvin and Hobbes, Peanuts, and some X Men. I've tried reading manga but it's harder for me to read right to left.'

"Oh do I have quite a few reccomendations for you. I've plenty at my storage unit."

"D-do y-you-u h-hav-ve-ve th-that-t m-man-ny?"

"Well I can't fit that many in my office."

The troll tilted his head, "Wh-why-y w-wou-ould-d y-you k-keep-p th-them-m in-n y-you-our-r off-ffic-ce?"

"I can only fit so much in there." Roswell shrugged, "I can barely keep my sleeping bag and clothes in there."

"Y-you-ou l-live th-there-re?"

"By choice, no worries of that. I pretty much live at work anyway so what would be the point of having an apartment to upkeep?" He snickered at the shocked expression on Jerico's face, "You look positively horrified."

"H-ho-ow d-do y-you-u sl-sleep?!"

"Oh I take two hour naps."

The troll pressed a series of keys amidst the conversation, deleting his browzer history all the while keeping his eyes on the peculiar doctor, "Y-you-u s-sa-aid-d o-our-r t-targ-get-t i-is?"

"Ah right! Thank you for reminding me, gent." He motioned to the troll to gain custody of the laptop, to which Jerico agrees and placing it on his lap. Roswell typed with a clumsy maverik speed that strained the troll's now burning eyes. Spotting a ray of sunlight peeking form the edges of the curtains, Jerico rose to toss a towel over the small space that threatened the small vampire. "Theodore Evans, age 40 physically, 203 chronologically. He's an old money bloke, dabbles in funding political campaigns. He has a hand in getting a select few Sanguine elite in political circles."

Jerico leaned over the edge of the bed, his features twisting at the eerily handsome vampire with striking slim features and a slighlty upturned nose. His eyes were dead, void of any hint of light but instead reflected a decay and numbness the troll turned his head. "Wh-what-t m-makes-s y-you-ou th-think-k h-he-e'll b-brea-ak?"

"He has before." The doctor stated confidently as he scrolled down, "He got arrested several years ago for tax evasion and bascially begged and pleaded for a lesser sentence. Most Sanguine would just throw money at the problem until it goes away, so we have a good chance with him."

Jerico manuvered to where his back pressed agaisnt the headboard for support, opening the email Edwin had sent with the list of offenders and clicking Theodore's name.

"He spends most of his time as a recluse, but every night at 4:35 he takes a walk around the monuments. He has two ghoul guards." Roswell began brushing unruly locks from his straining eyes, "I know I can incompacitate Theodore, but the ghouls..."

"I-I c-can-n h-hand-dle-le th-them." The troll pushed his thick rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, "I-I'v-ve-ve f-fough-ght st-tra-ang-ger-r th-thing-gs-s."

"Alright. In any case we've quite some time until then. Anything in particular you'd like to do until then? No use in just sitting around."

"Wh-what-t ab-bout-t wh-where-re w-we-e'll-"

"You leave that to me." The vampire beamed as his trademark enthusiasm slowly seeped back into his twisted grin, "I've been preparing for this bloke for some time now anyway. This is your first time in D.C, yes? Anything in particular you'd like to see?"

Jerico pondered for a moment before signing, 'Well, I did want to get my room mate a gift while I was here. Are there any places I can get anime or game stuff?'

"Oh believe me there are plenty of places around here, it's just a bit of a drive away."

'After hat you told me yesterday, I'm about afraid to get you near a car.'

"Oh come now, it's not like I'm driving the thing."

"M-met-tro-o."

"Fair enough, fair enough." The doctor waved his hand dismissively, "As for my study, just pretend I'm not even here."

Kind of hard to do that. 'I don't mind your company.'

Roswell, taken aback by the troll's words, burst into a fit of giggles the brightness akin to the sunlight that brought the doctor harm. "First time I've heard that."

"R-rea-ally-y?"

"Yes. I'm an eccentric, not stupid. I know I don't act quite 'normal' and that can be off putting to others. But I'd rather be who I am rather than hide."

'Well, I enjoy your company.' Jerico rose from the bed, hunting through his duffle bag once more for toiletries, "D-do-o y-you-u n-need-d s-sun-nsc-cree-een?"

"No thanks. I've my own." Roswell slipped a hand into his lab coat pocket, dangling an aged plastic bottle that smelled of rotting flowers and lotion, "It's a bit of trail and error, but every vampire makes their own. As long as I'm adequitely covered and don't go to a nude beach or anything I'm okay."

Jerico laughed softly as he head into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

The doctor scrolled through various links that were sent to the troll, stopping only when reaching the earliest sent message.

Reaper Casefile Jerico; Pending.

As the sound of running water hummed from behind the closed door, a small burst of mist crawled from underneath its threshold and yet didn't near past it, Roswell opened the link.

**Author's Note:**

> I will be posting portions of the story as a test to see how it will be received before possibly publishing it in full. I will greatly appreciate feedback on the work as it goes. Thank you for reading this far already.


End file.
